Constellations
by beatlejuice2712
Summary: They connect like constellations. There are parts of each other's stories and they refract each other's light until they sparkle through the tortured dark. They have galaxies stretched out before them. Sirius is the stars, Remus is the moon, and James is the sun. Peter is the black hole that would destroy them all. (Marauders era One-Shots)
1. Chapter I- Hogwarts

Chapter I: Hogwarts

 _James is finally at Hogwarts and finds his new roommates rather curious._

* * *

 _September, 1971._

The ruby red steam engine pulls out of the station with a last whistle and James doesn't even bother to hang out of the window and offer his final wave to the shrinking figures of his parents, he's far too excited.

This is it. He is going to Hogwarts.

Whilst everyone else is at the windows James runs through the corridor of the train, grinning. He's already stowed his case in the very last compartment in the very last carriage but he's made his way from there to the engine at the front, exploring, and he's on his way back now. He jumps over the gap between the two carriages with wild abandon and with the foolish smile still stitched to his face, and as he turns to shut the door between them he hears a cracking of shoe soles on the wooden carriage floor. There's someone behind him; he's been caught, and he can feel an embarrassed heat soaking rapidly into his cheeks.

James turns; a tall boy, maybe half a foot taller than James, with wavy charcoal-coloured hair that falls just below his ears, is watching him. He's got razor sharp features, sky high cheekbones, and there's a swirling fog misting his eyes. A sneer rolls down the boy's nose as his eyes rake up and down, taking in James's thatch of messy hair and his carelessly-laced shoes. His shirt is pressed and pristine- it's blinding white and it looks like it's made from crystal- and his trousers are far too tailored for a train ride to school. His shoes are smart, shiny, and as slick as tar. He's got fine aristocratic features and an air of superiority that makes James feel like he's suffocating.

James squares his shoulders and stands like his father taught him to; straight backed and proud. He's trying to be imposing, but the boy is completely oblivious to it. James looks at him again- really looks at him- and notices the way his shirt hangs out of his waistband, how his top button dangles from a thread like it's been pulled at, and how his trousers bunch at the pockets from where he's stuffed something- James thinks it might be some rumpled sweet boxes. There's a ray of sunlight breaking through the storm cloud eyes, and the sneer isn't a sneer at all. It's a smirk and it pulls at the corner of his mouth and somehow doesn't look out of place.

"Cool trainers." The boy praises. It isn't derisive or disparaging, he sounds impressed- genuinely impressed. "They're-" He pauses, rolling the right word around on his tongue until he's comfortable with it. His eyebrows knit together. "- _Adidas_ , aren't they?"

James nods. The boy pronounces it _ah-deed-as_ and its endearing but James doesn't correct him because they're muggle shoes, and he isn't entirely sure _he_ pronounces it right, either.

"Are you a muggle?" James asks- he can't stop himself, but the boy doesn't seem offended and laughs the question off, shaking his head.

"Why aren't you waving your parents off?" It's James's incessant curiosity that drives the constant questions and he wishes he would listen to his mother for once and hold his tongue, but it's no use.

If it is rude, the boy is polite enough to ignore it. "Why aren't _you_?" He counteracts swiftly.

James grins. "Fair point." He rubs a bit of dirt off his hand onto his cord trousers- where it has come from, he hasn't got a clue- and holds it out in front of him. It's how his father greets people and it's always seemed cool to James. "I'm James." The boy cocks an eyebrow in curiosity, and James can't tell if he is about to mock James's formality or refuse his hand like he's a diseased outcast.

To James's surprise, he does neither, but wipes his own hand against the knee of his trouser and grabs James's proffered hand, sealing it in an iron grip and wringing it enthusiastically. "Sirius." He replies.

"Like the star?"

"Like a stuffy old relative who donated too many galleons to the ministry." He answers with disdain, his lip curling back as if he's smelt something unpleasant.

The door at the end of the train car opens again and excited children fall through, the atmosphere bubbling with their chatter. A girl with fluffy ginger hair shoots past them in an orange blur and they watch the others siding off into the compartments.

"Come on," James says cheerily, "Let's get a compartment, quick."

Sirius waits on the spot, watching James again, but the disdain has disappeared; he seems to be unsure of something, but James can't for the life of him think what he could be wary of. James turns on his heel and begins to make his way back to the compartment at the end of the carriage, where he has left his case, until he realises Sirius is not following.

"I left my trunk in the one at the end," James tell him in explanation, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. "Are you coming too? Or did you leave your trunk somewhere else?"

Sirius hesitates. There's a crack in his voice and it's laden with uncertainty. "Are you sure?"

James gapes at him in confusion. "About what?" He asks, thoroughly baffled. "About your trunk? Where is your trunk?"

Sirius lifts a small, ebony box from his pocket and on closer inspection James realises it is a trunk- a very tiny, magically shrunken trunk.

"Cool! How'd you do that?" James asks, mesmerised.

Sirius's face breaks into the widest smile James thinks he has ever seen. It doesn't quite seem right paired with Sirius's upper-class, cut-crystal features because it's slightly goofy and filled with teeth, but James finds it charming and it makes Sirius seem human. He doesn't even mind that the girl with the copper hair who ran past them earlier has taken residence in his compartment- because he's here with Sirius, and Sirius seems _ridiculously_ cool. And he doesn't mind when the slimy boy comes in either and perhaps he is a bit mean to him, but he says it because he's desperate to impress Sirius, and when Sirius grins at him and joins in and makes him laugh James knows right then that they're going to be friends.

# # #

The sorting begins and Janet Abbot is placed into Hufflepuff, with Balthazar Beatty swiftly following. The third name to be called startles him; a boy steps forward as it is called, and it's the boy from the train. The one he had got on so well with.

And he's a Black.

He had said that his family had been in Slytherin, but never did James imagine that he was talking about the Blacks. James's mother has warned him against them; _twisted, the whole lot of them._ There's venom lacing every word whenever she speaks of them, the family she hates to mention. She's never said why she hates them, and James has never met any of them to judge for himself, but he has met his Uncle Marius who's a squib and who gave James his muggle trainers that Sirius had commented on- James should have known that Sirius was mocking him on the train- but Marius was disowned by the rest of his family and James thinks the Blacks can't be very nice if they would disown their family.

James knows where Sirius is going to be sorted- the whole school does- so he wonders if there's any need for the all the pomp and circumstance in this case. It's a shame, because James thought he seemed all right. How wrong first impressions can be.

He looks over at the Slytherin table- where Sirius will no doubt end up- and sees a number of boys shuffle closer, making a space on the bench in anticipation. A blonde haired girl with the same sharp features as Sirius- perhaps she's a cousin, James thinks- glares at Sirius with contempt before shifting her eyes to another girl further down, one with heaps of wavy light-brown hair, but she's looking everywhere except at the boy making his way to the stool.

James thinks of what Sirius asked him on the train, of what house he would be in if he was given the choice- because the Sorting Hat doesn't let people choose- and after a few moments, as Sirius hops off the stool with a wicked smirk on his face and the whole hall locked in stunned silence, James can't help but wonder whether Sirius didn't choose Gryffindor, after all.

He takes his place on the bench and his housemates don't know what to do- one timidly pats him on the back, a couple stick their thumbs up at him, but most of them stare back at the Sorting Hat as if the rip in its brim will pull open and the hat will let out a hearty laugh, declaring it was all a joke, and that the heir of the Black family should take his rightful place at the head of the Slytherin table.

But such a thing does not happen; the teachers continue with the sorting but there's a palpable tension in the air and James can only imagine what will be said back in the staffroom after the sorting is over. One overweight professor clad in lurid green check robes is staring agape from Sirius to the Slytherins looking as if he wants to demand a re-sort. Sirius, as he had seemed on the train, is completely oblivious to it all, and when James hears his own name called he strides confidently to the stool knowing the house that he will be sorted into. He will ask to be placed in Gryffindor, just like he suspects Sirius did.

# # #

There's only four boys sorted into Gryffindor this year, which is the smallest intake anyone can ever remember, so they're lumped together whether they like it or not.

The first evening is spent bonding in their dormitory. James is first in, the endless ball of energy even at half past eight in the evening, bounding across the beds to find his favourite; he picks the bed in the middle of the three beds along the wall. Sirius opts for the bed beside James's, closest to the door, because he openly admits with that now-familiar smirk that its most likely going to be him sneaking in late at night after a detention or whatever else.

Peter Pettigrew is short and lump-like, with dark blonde hair and watery eyes, and he looks weak and weedy; James can only guess how such a boy ended up in Gryffindor. But he takes the bed on the opposite wall and he laughs earnestly when James points out that it's the bed closest to the bathroom; in fact, he seems to laugh a lot which James rather likes. Sirius gives the impression that he might have a tendency to be a little sullen at times, but Peter seems carefree and fun and James thinks it will be nice to have him around to lighten the mood.

The only bed that is left is the one closest to the window; they'd all avoided it because it's in a draught, but James feels awful when Remus Lupin, the final Gryffindor boy, enters the dormitory and he already looks rather ill- so a draughty bed certainly isn't what he needs. James is quick to offer to swap, deciding that actually, he thinks he would rather like the bed beside the window, but the boy refuses politely. His eyes are the colour of mud, his hair is mouse brown, cropped short just below his ears, and his complexion is dreadfully pale, but he seems the most ordinary of the lot; he has a tidy beige cardigan, humble belongings, and a genuine smile.

There's an awkward atmosphere that only James seems able to permeate. They're nervous and it's their first night in a new place and James has the confidence that others only dream of. He tells them about himself; about how he received his Hogwarts letter on the morning of his eleventh birthday and was so excited that he tripped down the stairs on his way to tell his parents. He tells them about his mother, who repairs wizard robes in her spare time, and his father, who had worked in the magical transportation department of the Ministry but has since retired. He tells them that he has no brothers and sisters, but he does have three cats and an Owl. He tells them all about his home in Godric's Hollow, near the church; he tells them how he watches the congregation walk past his house on Sunday mornings and how he can see the cemetery from his bedroom window.

"I was born in Whitechapel, of course." He tells them, "But we moved out of London when I was eight, and Dad retired."

Sirius smiles at this; "small world," he muses, as he tells James that he is from Islington, which is just around the corner from Whitechapel. James could have guessed as much; there's something familiar in the way Sirius pronounces things like _water_ and _stairs_ that tells him they were both born within the sound of Bow Bells. Although Sirius's accent has been carefully cultivated and clipped, his London lilt threatens to seep into his speech the same way James finds his does; he slips into something slightly more working class if he isn't paying enough attention.

"When they both get started," Remus would later observe, "They sound like a pair of old wives hanging the washing out, cackling like banshees, talking about things like _apples and pears_ , and _butchers hooks,_ and the rest. Sometimes they can go for hours without uttering a single _'h'_."

For now, though, Sirius doesn't know them well enough to let them in on too much; he says he lives in London, and he mentions he has a brother, and he vehemently denies that he is anything like his family- if there is one thing he wants sorted straight away, it is that. But the Black name is infamous, so what he hasn't told them they can surely guess.

Peter's accent is flat and elongated, and he tells them he's from Somerset. He lives on the plains in a muggle village, but the muggles there believe in all sorts of mystic creatures- which they call superstitions- so he's been cocooned in magic since before he can remember. He has a little sister named Penelope, but they think she might be a squib. He lives with his mother, who's a witch, and she raises Garden Gnomes- Peter tells them with a humouring edge to his voice that she thinks they could be a help in the garden rather than a hindrance if they were just nurtured correctly. His father, however, couldn't see his mother's point of view- after he was attacked and bitten by a small army of gnomes, he refused to listen to her protestations that gnome saliva was actually very beneficial, and instead called her a mad old coot, stormed out of the garden, and Peter hasn't seen him since.

At this revelation everyone is at a loss for words. James and Sirius look terrified at each other, and Sirius fakes a yawn.

"Well, it's been a great evening." Sirius pretends to stifle. James bites his tongue, willing himself not to laugh. "I suppose we best be getting some sleep." They slide off their beds and change into their pyjamas in silence.

James has been lying in bed for half an hour trying to get to sleep when he sits up quite suddenly. "Remus," He whispers into the darkness. "You never told us where you were from."

He hears the crinkling of bed covers and hopes Remus isn't asleep already, but he can see his silhouette against the light from the window and he's pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"We've moved around a lot." Remus replies, but he's interrupted by a grunting snore from the bed beside the door.

"Noisy git." James smiles over at Sirius, supine on his bed and dead to the world, and he hears Remus's quiet laughter in reply. "Where were you born, then?" He asks Remus.

"A village just outside Chepstow."

James has never heard of it before. "Where's that?"

"It's on the Welsh border. It's beautiful." Remus replies wistfully.

Well, he doesn't have a Welsh accent, that's for sure- because that's certainly something James would have noticed. His accent isn't southern like James's and Sirius's and even Peter's, because Remus says _baa-th_ and _glaa-ss_ whereas they'll say _barth_ and _glarss._ "You moved around a lot?" James prompts.

"Yes. We've lived in Gloucester, Ross on Wye, Hereford, Ludlow," He lists more places that James has never heard of. "Then we moved South beside the sea, and we lived in Tintagel, and Newquay, and-"

"Wait," James interrupts. "Are these all _muggle_ places?"

Remus nods into the darkness, James see his silhouette move. "Are you a muggle?" James asks.

"My father is a wizard, but my mother's a muggle." Then, after a brief pause Remus adds on as if it's an afterthought, "she's ill."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Replies James, feeling uncomfortable, and wishing Sirius was awake to join the conversation. "Does moving around all the time help her?"

Remus doesn't reply straight away and James wonders if he's been too intrusive- it's his persistent curiosity that just won't go away again. "No," Remus eventually answers.

"So why do you move so much?" James asks, struggling to understand why Remus would move so much, if it just made his mother ill.

Remus lays back down onto his bed and sighs. He ruffles the bedcovers and tucks it up, and James can only just hear his reply. "I wish we could stay in one place."

For once, James can sense he's being too nosy, so holds back the barrage of questions he is desperate to ask. He settles back into the bed and thinks of his day; thinks of the other boys in the dormitory. At first, he had thought that Peter Pettigrew seemed dull and slow, but he's really rather friendly, even if he might put his foot in it sometimes, and James likes how honest he seems. Sirius Black is stuffy and stuck up by reputation of his name- but in actual fact, he's nothing like that at all. And plain Remus Lupin, who had seemed like the most straightforward of the bunch, is an enigma that James is content on cracking.

He had been right earlier; how wrong first impressions can be. James is just glad that he has seven years ahead of him to get to know them, because none of his roommates are what they appear to be at all.


	2. Chapter II- Friends

Chapter II: Friends

 _Sirius knows the name Potter, but he doesn't know James._

* * *

 _September, 1971._

The boy's a ball of fire, as frenzied as his birds-nest hair.

It's a quiet appraisal as Sirius watches him jump between the train carriages and he wishes he could wear such a wide smile and be quite that carefree. But that is not becoming for heirs to pureblood fortunes- especially not ones as dull as the Blacks.

Sirius looks over him. He's wearing easy brown cord trousers and a crumpled shirt. His shoes are dirty white with three black stripes across the edges and words printed on the tongue and the laces are hanging out. He's going to trip up on them if he's not careful, but Sirius doesn't tell him _'tie your shoelaces!'_ because that's something his Mother would say. They're trainers- he tries to read the name on the tongue to know what make, because he saw a catalogue once filled with them- and they're muggle.

His hair is midnight black and it's tousled like he's just fallen out of a Quidditch match, and he's wearing round glasses, like orbs, made of wiry thin metal and he looks like he's got a stick insect hanging from his ears, but Sirius doesn't tell him that, either. In a couple of years James will arrive on the Hogwarts Express with great, thick black, square glasses that his Uncle Marius has acquired from somewhere because he thought they'd suit James and they'd make him look like Buddy Holly, but back at Hogwarts no one has any idea what that means. Eventually though, they'll become his trademark. When a first year arrives sporting a pair in the same style he won't be told he looks like Buddy Holly, he'll be told he looks like James Potter. They'll be synonymous with James and everyone will think that he wears them on purpose- to make himself look cool- and perhaps that is true to an extent, although given the choice James would certainly prefer good eyesight over _any_ glasses. But James will always be as blind as a bat, and he can't see a bloody thing without his glasses, which is why he is wearing the silly, wire-framed glasses now. Soon the wire frames will become a nuisance because they're bendy and they snap, and Remus will spend so much of his time fixing them- because James can't see what to do and Sirius can't stop laughing- that he'll manage to perfect the charm so that he can perform it wordlessly.

But fixing his glasses is the least they can do because as Sirius will come to discover, James will do anything for anybody else. Nothing is too much trouble for James- he'd build time, catch smoke, breathe fire, if you asked him to- and he gives more than anybody expects. He's eager to please and he's filled with confidence- although it tiptoes on the edge of arrogance sometimes. He can talk for England, about anything and to anybody and he'll strike up conversation with someone like he's known them all his life.

That's what Sirius is drawn to on the train. James knows nothing about Sirius- he does not know his family, he does not know his background- but Sirius feels like James is his best friend.

# # #

It does not surprise him that James is a Potter- they're an old pureblood family like Sirius's but they don't have that mania like the Blacks. The picture James paints that evening when the boys are in their dormitory is perfect and Sirius is more than a little envious. The doting mother and father, the escape from grimy London, the idyllic home in Godric's Hollow with the church and the garden.

But it isn't just his home life that is a contrast to Sirius. James has been surrounded by Aurors and Ministry workers and good guys whilst Sirius has grown up with those that stretch the rules of the law and who hand over ill-gotten Galleon bribes. James has a contagious enthusiasm whereas Sirius has languid disinterest. He likes the early mornings whilst Sirius prefers the night full of stars. He's quick to make friends but Sirius is often sullen. And James is far too trusting- it's Sirius who is cautious of everyone.

As he falls asleep that evening, Sirius makes himself a resolution that he'll spend seven years failing to achieve; he is going to be more like James Potter.

# # #

His new resolution to himself does not get off to a good start.

"Sirius," someone is shaking him. "Sirius, get up!"

Sirius turns in the bed, blinks hazily, and looks around into the face of his new friend. He sits up suddenly in bed, his foggy grey eyes wide and panicked. "Am I late?" he asks blearily, looking across the room at Peter's vacant and neatly made bed.

"You will be if you don't get up soon." Replies James.

There's a bed to the side of him which is James's and it's still unmade but at least James is out of it. Peter is a self-starter, it seems, because James explains that he saw Peter getting ready this morning just as he was waking up, and Sirius has to stop himself from smiling at Peter's eagerness.

Kicking the bedcovers away, Sirius leaps from his bed and grabs all his school clothes in one bunch. They're hanging from the end of his bed where something- or someone, he rather suspects- has removed them from the trunk, hung them up, and attached his house crest to them overnight. He throws them back onto the unmade sheets and flips through them, searching for the right garment, throwing his bed clothes across the room as he messily changes. He ties his school tie in one swift movement that results in a rather haphazard knot that his father would be appalled by, but Sirius doesn't care. He stuffs his feet into the same slick shoes he wore yesterday whilst he slides into his school blazer and pulls his robes on- robes in the deepest, richest black- and he hardly registers the lion emblazoning his chest.

Sirius is ready in minutes and James is gawping at him- he is still in his white school shirt and socked feet, with his shirt sloppily bunched around the waistband of his trousers.

"How'd you do that?" James asks.

Sirius shrugs. "What, get changed so fast?"

"No, tie your tie."

Sirius sees that James's tie is hanging around his neck and he is surprised that James has never had to wear a tie before- Sirius practically grew up in ties and ascots, wearing them to the countless stuffy parties his parents would throw. Sirius doesn't laugh at James, instead he pulls his own tie out from beneath his jumper and undoes it.

"Pull the right end down," He instructs. "No, the other right."

James does as instructed and holds the wide end of the tie in his hand. Sirius demonstrates carefully so that James can copy, passing one end over the other, then looping it over and back and under and over again, until he passes the end underneath the loop and pulls it tight. It looks much neater now, and Sirius is quietly thankful. He appraises himself in the mirror, thinking of how furious his mother would be to see him in red and gold, when he catches a glimpse behind him. He looks over his shoulder and wonders if they should wake the boy, although it seems an awfully personal thing to do- but if he doesn't wake soon, he'll be late. Sirius nods at the boy on the bed. "Think we should wake-"

"Remus?" James fills in.

James pads across to Remus and pats him on the arm to wake him, slightly gentler than when he had woken Sirius. "Erm, Remus?" He pats him again. "Remus, get up."

Remus shakes James's hand off and turns over in the bed, pulling his duvet closer around him.

Sirius hadn't expected to have to wake Remus up- he'd seemed so quiet and boring yesterday that Sirius had got the idea that he'd just fade into the background and they'd forget he was there. "Come on, Remus, time to go." He yells, and drags the covers away. Sirius is the only one who's had to do this before- he's the only one who has a brother. Remus sits up suddenly, wiping sleep from his eyes. Sirius takes the clothes down from the hanger and tosses Remus's robes over his shoulder- he tries not notice how the faded grey stands out even more against his own black treacle robes- and bunches the trousers and the shirt, throwing them at Remus.

He extracts Remus's red and gold tie and threads it around his own neck, tying it loosely in one careful yet complicated movement, and pulls it off over his head, chucking it at James, who's yanking Remus off the bed whilst Remus tries to button his shirt with one hand and pull his trousers on with the other. James turns up Remus's collar and slides the tie over, tightening it and straightening it. Sirius hopes they don't notice that he's done Remus's tie slightly differently- its smarter, the knot is different, it threads over itself in three places- but it makes Remus look smart where his fraying trousers do not. Remus, still half-asleep, struggles into his jumper and shrugs on his school blazer whilst James straightens the shoulders for him.

"Have you got house-elves at home who usually do this, Remus?" Sirius teases as he stands behind him and passes his school robes over his arms, pulling it across his back. He pats him on the shoulder. "Now go and brush your hair," he points the boy in the direction of the bathroom and as Remus shuts the door behind him, Sirius turns to James, looking unbelievably put together- which is surprising considering he was still in bed less than fifteen minutes ago.

"Tidy boy like that, you'd think he'd have an alarm clock." Sirius muses, but he wonders if he really thinks that- because he gets the feeling that Remus is not what they think.

# # #

They find Peter in the Great Hall, having headed down to breakfast with some of the first year girls. Later, he'll sit with the boys from the other houses during the lessons, and he'll spend the evening talking with some second years in the common room. Peter seems happy enough to flit between groups, and Sirius supposes it's nice that Peter is so willing to be friends with everyone, even if Sirius doesn't fancy it himself.

Peter laughs a lot, and most of the time for poor Peter, it is at himself. He shoulders the role of fool with good grace and he makes James and Sirius laugh and he likes to make them laugh, because it makes him feel cool- so he sticks by them and marvels when people say hello to him in the corridor, and he likes when James or Sirius push him forward when someone's feeling down, because ' _Peter always cheers us up'._ Sometime in their sixth year, someone will laugh _with_ him and he'll marvel at how much nicer it is to be the comedian rather than the clown- and it will make him realise that James and Sirius have been laughing _at_ him the whole time.

But for now he's happy to be the punchline of the jokes because it's the first time he's ever got any sort of attention. At home he never makes anyone else laugh; his mother is mad, his father is absent and his sister is a squib so there really isn't a lot to laugh about but at Hogwarts he's the joker, and it feels nice to have a place, because here he's Peter- the funny one.

# # #

James and Sirius stick together on their first day. The two boys sit happily beside each other in class and snicker together in the corridors, and they drag Remus around by his elbow whether he wants to follow them or not.

If Remus hadn't overslept, they get the idea that he would have been more than happy to go off alone, to have breakfast alone, and to sit in class alone. He doesn't seem lonely, but rather, he seems quite happy to be by himself. Sirius tells James this, and James replies that he doesn't think he'd be able to cope if he were left to his own devices. Sirius agrees- in fact, it's the first thing he thinks they've got in common.

So it's good, really, that Remus overslept, they decide. Because they've realised he's brilliant- and he needs friends.

They soon learn that he is not plain at all. The mouse-brown hair, on closer inspection, is flecked through with rich russet and gold, and when it grows it's uneven and shaggy, and his fringe does nothing except fall into his eyes- the flat, mud brown eyes that are not flat, they're the colour of chestnuts and they swirl like molten chocolate, and they're wide, so wide he looks permanently startled. There's a depth behind them that no one will ever reach the bottom of, and they're expressive; Remus Lupin can display a multitude of emotions with his eyes alone.

He can be blunt at times but there's a tongue as sharp as knives in his mouth and Remus will be the only person who will ever win the last word against Sirius Black. His humour is quick as a flash, like lightning, and it cracks but it isn't as sarcastic or cutting as Sirius's can be, it's smarter, keener.

His time-keeping, they will discover, is atrocious, and not just when it comes to mornings. They will have to tell Remus that lunch ends at 12:45 when really it ends at 1 so that he has a chance to get to his afternoon class on time, they will tell him that his detentions begin fifteen minutes before they do, and anytime they arrange anything they will have to tell Remus a time earlier that it really is.

"He'll be late to his own funeral," Sirius will lament, as they wait for him outside the castle gates one afternoon in their fifth year when they're supposed to be going into Hogsmeade. In some, it could be an irritating trait but somehow in Remus it's endearing.

He's a paradox, he's organised in a disorganised way; he keeps his belongings stored away in his trunk but when he opens the lid, it's a mess of bundled clothes, sheaves of paper, open books and broken quills. His homework is always finished on time but no one else will have seen the frenzied rush as he sits on his bed in the dormitory and scribbles away late into the night.

There's something cool about Remus and it doesn't come from careless rebellion like Sirius, ineffable enthusiasm like James, or even an obliging nature like Peter. It seems to collect around his shoulders and Remus carries it with him with quiet oblivion. That's Remus Lupin; from the outside, he's collected and composed, but beneath it all he's erratic and chaotic and that's exactly why they like him.

They'll call him an enigma, but it could apply to any of them. They're the four Gryffindor boys and they'll take over the school one day, but it won't be for their loud and boisterous nature and their magnetism to mischief; it's because each one of them is a riddle that no one will ever solve.


	3. Chapter III- Flaws

Chapter III- Flaws

 _The boys that are brilliant are laced with flaws_

* * *

They connect like constellations, they tell each other's stories. They're a nebula of energy and undiscovered secrets and they refract each other's light until they sparkle through the tortured dark. Sirius is the stars, Remus is the moon, and James is the sun. Peter would be the black hole that would destroy them all.

Very few will ever unlearn the constellations. James is the centre of them and he's incredibly perceptive; soon, he starts to unravel them like tapestries.

Sirius is named for a star and he shines brighter than any other. He's the light in the dark, beautiful- and he'll explode in a blazing burst like a supernova.

Perhaps it because he's a Black that James is dazzled by him at first. He tells everyone at every chance he can get that he's nothing like his family, but there's a side of Sirius that _is_ like the Blacks; he can shout profanities louder than anyone else, he's got a storming anger that clouds his face like thunder, a white-hot temper that's erupts like a volcano- an explosion that takes everything else out with it. He's a whirlwind in steel grey and James wonders why Sirius is a star when it should be a storm. When Sirius really gets into his stride, it's frightening.

"That temper will land him in Azkaban," Remus would mutter, when Sirius had slammed the door with such force that it shakes in its frame and he had marched off to find the object of his anger.

Peter cowers slightly on the opposite side of the room. "Poor Regulus," He says, shaking his head, "I'd hate to be on the receiving end of that."

It terrifies James, but it's a temper that's born of loyalty; Sirius will do whatever it takes to protect those that he keeps close. And James never thinks of how it will save his life, when they're foolishly fighting in the Order, and he's threatened with deadly curses and it's the force of Sirius's loyalty that explodes the room around them.

It's the loyalty that sends Sirius to search for Peter. But when the Aurors snap the handcuffs on and Harry has been left alone, Sirius Black blames himself. He shouldn't have exploded with fury and he shouldn't have left Harry- because he's the stars, and the stars provide the light when the sun goes down.

Remus is the moon, and he reflects everyone else's light and that's what makes him glow, but there's a part that's always hidden.

It takes time for James to become annoyed by Remus's façade; he's incorrigible, and he hides everything from them; he hides the werewolf, he hides the poverty, he hides the anguish. There's more than two layers to Remus Lupin and even though James thinks he's got him all worked out, he's not as straight-forward as that, and the continual complexity and the constant secrets drives James to despair.

"What will we tell Remus?" Peter asks seriously, as the world rumbles outside and he stands with James and Sirius in the relative safety of the hallway of James's cottage. "Should we tell him we've changed secret keepers?"

James shrugs carelessly. "We won't tell him a thing," he replies. "He's used to secrets."

But Remus is raised on secrets and it's all he ever knows, and he thinks that if he doesn't let anyone get too close then he can't hurt them. The secrets eventually lead James to put his trust in the wrong person; when he thinks of Remus's ability to bury secrets layer beneath layer, he thinks only of how secrets betray his trust, and not of how useful it is to hide mysteries with a calm disguise.

And when James is dead and Peter is dead and Sirius is in Azkaban, Remus Lupin blames himself- because if he hadn't been half-hidden, perhaps they'd have trusted him, perhaps he could have helped- but he's the moon, and he's his own worst enemy.

James is the sun, the centre of it all, the ball of energy, radiating, but he's fire and he'll burn anything that gets too close.

He's desperate for attention, he's in need of an audience. And sometimes James just doesn't understand that they need their space; he'll keep Remus up throughout the night with midnight conversations when all Remus wants is to forget everything and sleep. "Remus, will you take me to the Shrieking Shack one night? I want to see inside." He drags Sirius to the kitchens to the house-elves when Sirius would rather sit in the Great Hall above. "It's full of house-elves apparently, come with me and we can find out." He'll distract Peter in the library when Peter would prefer to panic over the exam and revise alone. "Let's revise potions together, Peter, you need my help…"

But it's because he's a pampered paragon from the moment he's born, and when he arrives at Hogwarts, he's faced with a strange sensation; he's unsure of himself, and he's hopeless when he's left alone. He isn't as effortlessly cool as Sirius, he isn't as secretly interesting as Remus, and he isn't as affable as Peter. He's James Potter, the insecure nuisance- but he never thinks of how he's the antidote to Remus's sullenness, Sirius's arrogance, and Peter's anxiety, he just thinks of how he needs them and how he clings to them and how he's probably just too much.

And Later, years later, when Lily's lullaby floating down the stairs silences, when there's a creaking of an opening gate and a pale green glow at the door, James curses his insecurity. He falls to the floor with a dull thud and counts them off one by one; Lily, Harry, Sirius, Remus, Peter- the ones he let get too close, and James Potter blames himself because he's the sun and he drew them in with his energy and his fire, and now they're all the ones he's burned.

Peter's the black hole, who'll never truly be understood, and is filled with more secrets than the rest.

They don't dislike Peter- how can they? He's everybody's friend- but that's where his downfall begins. He's a networker; he makes lots of powerful friends, and they're too trusting to realise.

It would be this lack of loyalty that drives Peter to jump between sides.

Peter likes friends that can offer him something. Remus is kind and is drawn to the underdog, and little, weedy Peter Pettigrew finds himself benefiting from this. He struggles with foot after foot of homework but Remus offers to help, even though he can hardly finish his own homework on time. When Peter accidentally sends a Shrivelfig flying and it ricochets across the room and knocks over a burly Slytherin's cauldron during one dreary Potions lesson, it is Remus- so much bigger, and quicker at casting hexes than Peter- who takes the blame.

Remus is so grateful for his friends that he'll do anything for them.

Peter realises he can manipulate Remus's kindness; first, he does Peter's homework, later he'll take the wrap for Peter's mistakes, and eventually- although unknowingly to Remus- he'll take the brunt of the rising suspicions that should fall on Peter. Remus never realises that his kindness comes at a cost.

Sirius is of benefit to Peter, too. Peter sees Sirius's boiling temper against the sixth year Slytherins who had tried to mock him and he realises how useful it will be to have Sirius as an ally. He's proved right when they reach fourth year and his classmates discover his sister is a squib and they christen Peter with a derogatory nickname and Sirius is so indignant on his behalf that he hexes them with the sort of hex that would make the Dark Lord proud. Of course it backfires when Sirius hunts Peter down on Halloween years later and he's on the receiving end of that anger as Sirius threatens him with those same hexes.

But Peter sees his opportunity and takes it. He relies on the notoriety of Sirius's supernova temper and so when Sirius is shouting his threats and his anger is bubbling over, Peter explodes the street around him and no-one suspects that little Peter Pettigrew was behind it all; it's Sirius who is locked away for his troubles. And Sirius's fierce loyalty- and its ensuing temper- comes at a cost, as well.

Being friends with James brings benefits, too. He's the centre of attention and being friends with him means that they are all the centre of attention and this is the reason the rest of the school knows Peter's name. He is never without an acquaintance to sit with and talk to, which is useful when Sirius and James are in detention and Remus is in the library, or otherwise occupied. Being friends with James means that you've earned James's trust, and it's like a seal of approval.

And this seal of approval proves very useful for Peter because he puts himself into a position to be chosen as their Secret Keeper, and he can hand the Potters' whereabouts over to another charismatic individual who draws Peter in with their ego and their influence. And there's a cost to James's popularity and his friendship with Peter- it costs him his life.

And Peter blames James, for his far-too-trusting nature, and he blames Sirius, for thinking he knows what's best, and he blames Remus, for never standing up for himself when they doubted him, and Peter Pettigrew never blames himself for the mess he causes.

They were Peter's friends, but Peter was never theirs.

* * *

 _A.N: everyone's argument with Marauder fics is that Peter is sidelined and they always say, 'but Peter was a Marauder too!', and I understand that, but when you consider the line from P.O.A:_

 _'then you should have died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!'_

 _I think its so much more interesting (and sort-of fits with canon) to think that the other three genuinely like Peter ('as we would have done for you') but that Peter was never really that interested in them and being friends with them, he just considered them as people who could offer him something (come on, we all have a friend like that...) He's quick to accept their help but he'll never offer it ('but he became an animagus to help Remus!' well, being an animagus is a useful skill to have, so if someone's going to help you achieve it why not take them up on the offer?) I don't know, let me know what you think._


	4. Chapter IV- Sibling Rivalry

Chapter IV- Sibling Rivalry

 _Sirius's brother arrives, but he dares anyone to recognise the connection._

* * *

 _September, 1972._

When they start second year, a boy arrives, Regulus, who's the spitting image of Sirius. They have the same handsome, careful features, all razor sharp contours and cut-glass, but Regulus's face is longer and more pointed. His hair is the exact same shade of charcoal as Sirius's, but it's shorter round the ears and piled high on top, tousled and rolled back like waves. There's a delicate air to Regulus; his shoulders are narrower, he's a slighter build, more pristine, and he looks like one gust of wind could knock him over whereas Sirius looks like he could weather the storm.

The resemblance between Sirius and Regulus is breath-taking but there's a hex on offer for anyone who mentions it. James needs to ask, though- it's his persistent curiosity- and he reckons he can get away with it because he's Sirius's best friend. So he ventures for it one day, when they're in their dormitory and James is sitting crossed legged on his bed and Sirius has artistically draped himself across his own. James musters up his courage and asks, "the boy in first year, the one with your surname, is he a cousin, or is he your brother?"

There's an audible intake of breath in the dormitory and Remus and Peter wait.

The thunder in Sirius's raincloud eyes rumbles and he glares up from below his eyelashes. "My brother," he huffs.

Remus sits up on his bed and scoots to the end, until his legs dangle over the edge, and James looks startled. "Regulus?" He asks bluntly. "I remember his name from the Sorting."

"And?" Sirius growls.

"Well, it's been three weeks," Remus points out, "and you haven't spoken to him once."

He scoffs contemptuously. "I don't speak to him at home, why would I speak to him at school?"

James doesn't want to laugh, but the idea of Sirius and his brother wandering through their stuffy Islington palace in silence is rather funny. "He doesn't look too good, mate."

"That's because he's a Black." Sirius replies waspishly.

"No," James begins again, determined to make his point. "I mean, he looks sort of…" he weighs his words to find the most suitable, " _sad_." James says tentatively, and Remus throws him an apprehensive look.

"He's a miserable git. Probably moping because _Mummy_ isn't here to tie his shoelaces for him." Sirius starts scuffing his shoes on the floor and James does the wise thing not to point out that he's seen Regulus do the exact same thing in the corridors as he waits outside his classes.

"Yeah, well, maybe he could do with a brother." James would love a little brother, and he feels somewhat irritated that Sirius could be so callous towards his own family.

"He needs a good shake," Sirius sits up arrogantly and folds his arms. "Reg is pathetic, I'm not getting involved." And with that, Sirius huffs out of their dormitory.

They must have been friends once, James thinks- because otherwise Sirius wouldn't have ever given him a nickname, and for the rest of their Hogwarts career, James never once hears anyone else call him Reg.

# # #

Seven-year old Regulus creeps to the top of the house and presents a squashed napkin to his brother. "Why can't you eat with us?" He asks, as Sirius unwraps the napkin and frowns at the lone bread roll inside.

"Because I don't want to." Sirius replies aloofly, tearing a chunk from the miserable-looking roll.

Regulus stands nervously beside the door. "Why not?" He says.

Sirius shrugs. "Because mum's stupid."

"Why do you think she's stupid?" Regulus creeps closer into the room.

Sirius flounces back onto his bed, sitting up so that he can look out the window. The rain beats against the window panes, counting down like the ticking of a clock. "Because of what she tells us."

"What do you mean?"

Resigned to the fact he will not be left alone, Sirius gets back up and walks around the room to face Regulus, who's taken up a cosy position perched on the other side of the bed. "All that pureblood nonsense." Sirius explains, with a tired air. "She keeps talking like purebloods are better than everyone else, but why? What's wrong with muggles?"

"They're dirty and stupid." Regulus replies instinctively, repeating the opus he's been bidden to memorise.

Sirius looks almost pityingly at his brother. "Really, Reg? We've never met any, how can we know that?"

"Because mum says so."

"Exactly, and mum's stupid!" Sirius repeats with a resigned sigh. "She's a mad old hag and she hates everyone-"

Regulus is staring at the door with wide eyes. "Sirius." He interrupts.

Sirius ignores him. "-who isn't pureblood but if you ask me, I think purebloods are worse than anyone else-"

"Sirius!" Regulus almost shouts. Sirius follows his eyes, staring at a spot behind him, and he turns to see Kreacher the house-elf skulking outside the doorway. Kreacher's mother has recently died, and as such Kreacher is now the sole house-elf to the noble and ancient House of Black- a hallowed role he's taken with much enthusiasm. He snarls cruelly at Sirius before muttering something to himself and disappearing into the shadows.

Sirius's face drains of colour and his eyes stare in panic. The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. "How long was he there?" He eventually asks.

"Long enough."

"Why didn't you warn me?!" He turns on Regulus with a frantic fire in his eyes. "He's going to go and tell mum and she'll be furious!"

Regulus jumps from the bed, startled at the look on Sirius's face. "I couldn't just tell you Kreacher was there, that would be strange!" He argues.

Sirius sighs heavily before he nods dolefully in agreement, but there's still a haunted look in his eyes as if he fears for his life.

"We need a secret code that no one knows except us so we can warn each other." Regulus says, laughing uneasily to break the tension.

Sirius scoffs. "Secret code? Reg, you read too many detective stories."

# # #

Eight year old Regulus has been told something he doesn't understand and he finds himself going to his brother for help.

"What does mum mean, when she says _'Slytherin would be proud'_?" He asks Sirius, who's sitting up on his bed sulking and scuffing his feet on the wooden floor.

At the sound of Regulus's voice, the scuffing stops and Sirius turns his head to look towards the door. "Slytherin's some demented old wizard who wanted to rid the world of mudbloods." He tells Regulus. "He's one of the founders of Hogwarts, that's why there's a house named after him."

Regulus sits on the bed with his back to Sirius. "So, why would he be proud?"

"I don't know." Sirius replies carelessly, turning to look out of the window again. He's spent so much of his time staring out of that window that he's memorised every fleck of dirt on the panes. "Did you do something stupid? Like spit on a mudblood or burn a muggle?"

"What's it like to be a Slytherin at Hogwarts?" Regulus asks.

"I don't know, Reg. I'm not at Hogwarts yet, remember." Sirius points out. "And I'm not going in Slytherin, anyway."

"What's wrong with Slytherin?"

Sirius frowns. "Well, everyone's in Slytherin."

Regulus looks back, his eyes filled with an innocence that Sirius wants to laugh at. "So you'll be with all our family!" Regulus reminds him. "Narcissa, and Bellatrix and Andromeda!"

"I don't want to be with them, they're all idiots."

"Sirius-"

He's in full flow and ignores Regulus's interruption. "And Bellatrix is mental and they all think that it means something to be pureblood and they all laugh at muggles, but really, Reg, what's so wrong with muggles?! I keep asking but no one can tell me!"

"Sirius!"

Sirius feels an elbow jam sharply into his back. "What?" He growls, shoving his own elbow into Regulus's back before turning to face him. His attention is caught by a shadow flickering against the wall in the hallway, and the creaking of the wooden floor. Sirius can tell from the way the shadow falls that it is not their mother- it's a male figure, he's sure- and it is not their father, it's far too short, so it must be their Uncle Alphard, who has been staying with them over the week to attend business at the Ministry.

Regulus must have seen him too. "Do you think he's going to tell mum?" Sirius asks quietly.

"Probably." Regulus shrugs. "I bet you wish we'd invented that secret code."

"Shut up, Reg." Sirius elbows Regulus in the back again and the brothers sit in silence for a moment.

"Sirius," Regulus suddenly asks, his voice grave. ""Why can't you just ask to be put somewhere?"

"What?"

"At Hogwarts." Regulus clarifies.

Sirius laughs to himself. "That's not how it works. You put this hat on and it sorts you into your house, that's why it's the _Sorting_ Hat. It looks in your head and decides where you should go from that."

"But Sirius," Regulus says. "It's a _hat._ Why do you have to listen to what a _hat_ says?"

"I don't know. It's just one of those things, isn't it?" Replies Sirius. "I don't want to go in Slytherin, I'd go anywhere else if I could, but I'm not clever enough for Ravenclaw, I'm not brave enough for Gryffindor, and I'm not nice enough for Hufflepuff."

Regulus frowns in confusion and he can tell that Sirius doesn't want to answer any more of his persistent questions, but he just doesn't understand why Sirius couldn't go in whichever Hogwarts house he wants- Sirius is his brother, and he's the cleverest, bravest, and nicest person Regulus knows.

# # #

The parties are not what nine year old Regulus would consider fun, but he goes along with them, and at least he has a better time than his brother does. They stand together, following their parents around the room and greeting their parents' friends. They're the heir and the spare; Sirius is presented first, the firstborn heir and the better son, and he scowls at them with conceit. Regulus smiles politely and knows that they'll all remember Sirius, but they'll forget Regulus's name before the evening is over.

"Mum said we can talk to the Rosier twins." He tells Sirius, who is pulling at the buttons on his waistcoat as if they're digging into him like pins.

"I don't want to talk to them. I don't want to talk to anyone." Sirius says scathingly, folding his arms.

"Why not?"

"Because they're all the same!" He replies, sounding irritated.

Their mother is talking with another lady, one who is just as tall and severe and full of sharp laughter and ingratiating smiles. Regulus points at the two blonde-haired children standing beside the two women. "Mum likes the Rosier twins. I bet they're not the same as everyone else."

Sirius's laughter is hollow. "I bet they think mudbloods are filthy. I bet everyone here thinks that."

Regulus catches a snatch of their conversation and the women turn to look at the two brothers. "Sirius, what does ' _betroth_ ' mean?" Regulus whispers.

"I don't know." Sirius's eyebrows crease in confusion. "Why?"

Regulus shrugs and looks around the room at the rest of the people gathered there, their parents friends, all dressed up in feathers and velvet and sparkling gems. Does everyone here think that mudbloods are filthy? If so many believe it, surely it must be true? "Sirius," Regulus asks. "Are mudbloods filthy?"

Sirius looks down at his little brother but there is no hint of a scathing scowl on his face. "I don't know." He admits. "But just because mum and dad say it, why should we believe it?"

# # #

Ten year old Regulus is excited for his brother to come home over the Christmas holidays. It feels like it's been a lifetime since he and Kreacher dropped Sirius off at Platform Nine and three-quarters on the first of September and the days he's had to pass alone in Grimmauld Place have seemed twice as long as usual.

There has only been one letter from Hogwarts, arriving the day after Sirius left, but it was from their cousin Narcissa and told of Sirius's sorting. Their parents barely spoke of Sirius for some weeks after. Then several more letters arrived from Hogwarts- official looking letters from the teachers with the Hogwarts crest stamped on the back- and they were all tossed into the fire. There have been no letters from Sirius and so Regulus assumes that Sirius has just been too busy to write to his little brother, but he can't wait to hear all about Hogwarts. He cannot wait to hear about Sirius's new friends, he cannot wait to hear about the spells he has learnt and the potions he has brewed. Most importantly, though, Regulus cannot wait to hear what the other children are like; what the halfbloods and the muggleborns are like.

But Sirius never comes home for Christmas. It isn't until the summer that Regulus sees him again, but he and Kreacher do not accompany him home from the station, and when Sirius arrives at Grimmauld Place he runs to his room, slams the door, and doesn't come back out.

# # #

Eleven year old Regulus expects school to be like home, with a brother that barely acknowledges his existence- and that, he thinks, he could cope with. But the indifference from Sirius is nothing compared to the attention from others. He sees the looks shared between the teachers first, then he hears the whispers along the house table and in the common room. There's a shared feeling that spreads between his housemates when the Sorting Hat cries Slytherin, because they all expect him to be like his brother; they expect him to be a rebel. They expect him to cast off the pure-blood elitism that the others believe in and they expect him to be as disparaging of Slytherins as Sirius is.

It isn't until Regulus arrives at Hogwarts that he starts to despise it- he's _always_ Sirius's little brother. He is always being compared against Sirius. And its Sirius's complete disregard of him that makes him hate the similarities; all he wants to do is prove that he is _nothing like_ Sirius.

Sirius never shows an interest in Quidditch so Regulus decides he will make the house team. His slight frame makes him quick and nimble on a broomstick, and when he comes home over the summer after his first year and Sirius sulks in his bedroom, Regulus asks Kreacher to hide tiny gems all over the house and by the time he returns to Hogwarts in September, Regulus is like a magpie and he can spot anything that glints and shines; he is the perfect seeker.

Sirius hates his pureblood ancestry and so Regulus studies their family tree until he knows it by heart and he's never know his mother to be prouder of him. He paints their family crest on his bedroom wall and he drapes Slytherin banners across the furniture and he keeps clippings from the Daily Prophet of impressive shows of Dark Arts. Everything that Sirius hates, Regulus plasters onto the walls of his bedroom.

At Hogwarts he joins the right crowd, makes friends with the right people, agrees with the right things- all traits that would make his parents proud. They're not necessarily things he would choose to do but he's too busy proving he isn't like his brother to bother about what he really believes in. He sticks on the right side of the school rules and he never gets caught, and he keeps his head down to avoid detentions whilst his brother whiles away evening after evening in a teacher's company. Until eventually, they share nothing but a surname and the school seems to forget they're even related.

But that's why they're exactly the same. They'll do anything to prove people wrong.

And no-one else notices it except James Potter, because he looks at people like they're books to be read and he unravels them, deciphering the writing that is scrawled across their hearts. He knows Sirius Black does not deserve his name's reputation, he knows Remus Lupin is not as calm as he appears, he knows Lily Evans is not a clueless muggleborn, and he knows Regulus is not the antagonist his brother presents him as.

Shortly after the start of their second year, and just a few days after that first conversation in their dormitory when James had asked Sirius about his brother, James sees Regulus waiting outside the transfiguration classroom.

"Hi, Regulus." James offers. By some miracle- or rather, a lunchtime detention- James is without Sirius. He smiles at Regulus and takes the moment to look at him carefully. Regulus's eyes hold the same haughty look that James has so often caught in Sirius's and a sneering scowl rolls along his nose- but while Sirius has that single sunbeam that breaks through his raincloud eyes and softens his conceit, and the goofy grin that's charming and makes Sirius seem human, Regulus's eyes are flat black, like tar, and hauntingly eerie.

Regulus, the boy who looks so much like James's best friend, is torn between being polite or staying alive. Because if he doesn't reply, he's rude, but if he does and Sirius finds out, Sirius will curse him. Regulus opts for a stifled nod- it's the most he can manage- and it surprises James. From the way Regulus had stared at him, from out of those devil's eyes, and from the way Sirius spoke of him, he'd braced himself for a curse. He'd been wrong to expect one.

# # #

"I saw Regulus in the corridor the other day, outside the transfiguration classroom." James tells Sirius. It has now been a month since Regulus started school, and Sirius has still not spoken to him. "He seems alright."

Sirius huffs dramatically. "He's not. He's an idiot." He flips himself over on the bed so he's facing away from James.

James shrugs, addressing Sirius's sulking back. "Well, maybe you just don't know him that well."


	5. Chapter V- Brothers in Arms: Part One

_A.N: omg writer's block is a bitch. so so so sorry for the hiatus._

Chapter V- Brothers in Arms: Part One

 _He ain't heavy, he's my brother._

* * *

 _April, 1978._

The years pass by and Sirius and Regulus barely share two words. In fact, the first time James ever really sees Sirius and Regulus speak it's the Easter holidays during their final year at Hogwarts and Sirius and James are fed up with school; they want out, they want to get into the real world. They're holed up in an abandoned warehouse in East London which they think is a possible Death Eater haunt and whilst Dumbledore has told them they're too young to join the Order, they're not going to let that stop them.

"It stinks, that's for sure." James tries not to gag as he casts the light from his lit wand across the floor, stained with smears of deepest crimson.

"Is it blood?" Sirius asks. The smell is sticky and tangy and sour. "Where's Lupin when you need him? He'd know." He smiles wryly into the darkness.

They stop in what could once have been a kitchen or a breakroom; there are battered cupboards and counters along the walls, dirt across the worktops and soil trampled into the floor. There's a sink below a grimy window and the tap is dripping. "Mate, we've been through all the rooms now." James sighs. "There's nothing here." Sirius nods his agreement.

There's a dull thud and a snapping of shoe soles on the concrete floor in the hall and Sirius whips around, his wand held high in front of him like it's a loaded gun. From the doorway outside a pair of eerie dull eyes set in a long face flashes in the scant light and it is instantly recognisable.

"You're in danger here." Regulus tells them quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him with a click.

Sirius does not loosen his grip on his wand. "And how would you know?" He asks, his lip pulling back in distaste.

Regulus shrugs, unconcerned by Sirius's raised wand. "You hear things." He replies aloofly, waving his hand airily in a perfect mirror of a trait James has always associated with Sirius.

Sirius rolls the wand in his closed fist. "Are you alone?" he asks through gritted teeth, refusing to break eye contact with Regulus.

"Yes."

"Then tell me how you know."

Regulus steps closer until the only thing between them is Sirius's wand. James shuffles his weight between his feet and moves until he's beside Sirius; he hasn't risen his own wand, he doesn't think he needs to. But he's worried that Sirius does not seem to want to relax his stance or let his guard down against his own brother.

The tension between the brothers build and James starts to feel suffocated; it's that same suffocating feeling he remembers on the train years ago, so many years ago, when he first met Sirius, but now there's two Black brothers and it feels even worse, like he needs to get out of there. It's overwhelming; he feels like he's shrinking against their dominating figures- the brothers are both so tall, and whilst James certainly isn't short, next to them he feels like he should stand on stilts to even reach their eye-level- but it's because they don't slouch quite like he does; their upbringing is displayed in everything they do, including, it seems, the way they stand. Their air of aristocracy is stifling, their pureblood heritage never as apparent as when they are together.

"Maybe we should go." James agrees, perhaps more for himself than for any other reason, but Sirius shows no sign of having heard him. He runs a hand nervously through his messy hair. There's some silent exchange passing between Regulus and Sirius, who James had thought for so long were estranged siblings, now they seem to understand each other without the need for words. James pats Sirius on the arm to try and catch his attention. "Let's try the other place." He tells him, still feeling unnerved.

Regulus picks up. "What other place?" He asks, his eyes narrowing and shifting between Sirius and James.

Sirius scoffs. "Like I'd tell you." He finally puts his wand back into his pocket, and the eerie disquiet that had seemed to engulf the room falls away with the cracking of Sirius's hobnail boots across the floor, as he turns to walk away from his brother.

"The abandoned underground station?" Regulus asks. "King William Street?"

Sirius turns back to face Regulus, his expression sour, and his voice drips with acid and accusation. "How do you know?" He almost spits the words across the room.

"You hear things." Regulus once again replies with the same aloof disinterest. He's stuck his hands in his pockets now, casual, like this is nothing more than a pleasant chat between friends, and not a strangled confrontation between two wayward brothers.

"It _is_ a Death Eater hideout, then?" Sirius surmises with an uncomfortable smile, like the words he has to speak are poison.

Regulus ignores Sirius's apparent disgust. "You'll waste your time, there's nothing there." He tells them calmly. "Not now, at least. There won't be for another two weeks."

There's almost a hint of disappointment in Sirius's voice. "We'll be back at Hogwarts then."

"Then you should send someone else." Regulus replies bluntly. "You can't leave school, it'll look suspicious."

There's a dead beat that only the silence breaks and James thinks that Sirius is trying desperately to come up with his counterargument. But when it crackles through again, Sirius's voice is much louder, and his argument makes no sense at all. "Well, you know what Kreacher's mother used to say," he announces.

James stares at him like he's just declared he's seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, thinking either there's something he's missing in this conversation or Sirius has finally lost the plot. He looks to Regulus but his face is passive, and when neither of them elaborate on the suddenly unrelated and seemingly extraneous introduction of Kreacher's mother James has to ask- it's his persistent curiosity that just won't let it lie. "What?" He asks, bewildered.

Ignoring James, Sirius creeps on tiptoes towards the door.

"What are you on about?" James asks again. "Kreacher's mother?" He looks between Sirius and Regulus. "What's she got to do with any-"

He's silenced when Regulus clamps a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up." Regulus hisses in his ear. "We're not alone." He nods at Sirius, who's standing cautiously beside the door.

"How do _you_ know?" James asks indignantly, knowing he must sound petty, but he's faced with an unfamiliar feeling- he doesn't want to admit to himself that its jealousy because Regulus and Sirius share something that he isn't in on.

"It's code." Regulus tells him.

"Code?" James repeats, confused.

"You think you can have private conversations with my parents and all their friends around?" Regulus murmurs in an undertone. He notices the bitter look on James's face. "You weren't his first brother, you know," he adds, as if it's an explanation.

Sirius looks over and nods between them, and for a moment James is lost but Regulus picks it right up. He lets go of James but stays beside him, as if he's still worried that James could blow their cover.

"Family doesn't stop with blood." Regulus announces, dropping his voice to a slightly gravelly tone and adopting that slightly working-class London lilt that Sirius slips into when he isn't paying enough attention, and its then that James realises that not only do the brothers look alike, but they sound remarkably alike, too.

"What?" He whispers at Regulus, still lost.

"That's what Kreacher's mother used to say, crazy hag. And we said that in the Gryffindor dormitory, remember." Regulus replies, in a passable imitation of Sirius's voice.

"No, we didn't." James is sure Regulus has lost the plot. "You weren't even a Gryffindor-"

Regulus slams his boot onto James's foot.

"Right after that prank in the forbidden forest, remember Prongs?"

James looks baffled between Sirius and Regulus. He can't understand what's up with Regulus and it's a little off-putting with Regulus suddenly calling him Prongs and sounding exactly like Sirius. In fact, had he not seen it himself, James would have sworn that it had been Sirius speaking. As Sirius listens intently at the door, James finally catches on.

"That's right, Padfoot." He eventually replies.

"The two of _us_ are brothers." Regulus's voice, so much like Sirius's at that moment, cracks and it's almost a give-away. "So what if Reg is here? Just because he's blood doesn't mean he's family. I don't need him." He quickly recovers.

Sirius has heard all he needs to at the door and creeps back to Regulus and James. He nods solemnly. "Keep talking." He mouths at James.

"Err-" James flounders, suddenly- for the first time in his life- at a loss for words. "So you don't think he is here?" He improvises.

"Get out." Sirius whispers to Regulus, quiet enough that they cannot be heard over James, who's still wittering on about whatever he can think of. "There's two people behind that door. Now, if they're good, they're nothing to worry about. But if they're Death Eaters and they catch you here, Reg, they'll kill you. We're not exactly part of the enemy yet, but we're on the same side."

Regulus frowns. "What if they're neither? People aren't either good or Death Eaters, you know."

"Just go! Out that back door, and run as far as you can and don't look back."

He nods his understanding. "And you?" He asks quietly.

Sirius laughs uneasily. "You think we can't take two Death Eaters?"

# # #

That evening, Regulus apparates alongside Kreacher to his cousin's house, dismissing him once he is inside the gates. Narcissa, newlywed to Lucius Malfoy, lives with her husband in a large house in the West Country and it's so horribly pretentious that Regulus finds himself scoffing at the gates. They shut behind him with a rattle that reminds him of a prisoner's clinking shackles, and the sound, mixed with the crunch of his boots on the gravel underfoot, makes him feel like a convict walking to the gallows and it gives him a strange feeling of arcane dread.

"Definitely the home of The Dark Lord's loyal followers," He says scathingly as he kicks at one of the white rosebushes lining the long driveway. At last he reaches the great, ornately carved wooden front door- the walk had seemed never ending- and he pulls the heavy knocker back. It lands with a dull thud, and the sound seems to cut short, drop dead in the thick air.

Long fingers snake around the front door about a third of the way up as it is pulled open but there is no one there- a house-elf, perhaps, Regulus suspects, but no one else- and he steps inside. The entrance hall is all high-ceilings and swathes of drapes clouding the light from the windows, grandiose and too ostentatious for Regulus's liking. The walls are lined with dark wood panels that match the criss-crossing wooden floorboards and when Regulus moves across them he's glad that he doesn't wear ridiculous hobnailed boots like his brother does, because he knows they'd scratch the floor and echo terribly through the airy house.

Narcissa Malfoy seems to sweep into the entrance hall. There's a scuffle as another cousin, Bellatrix, follows behind her and stalks into the room, and the two stop suddenly when they set eyes on the unexpected visitor. Bellatrix, hunched and leering, watches him with an eager fascination and she's desperate to ask him why he is here- although perhaps she knows the reason, for there is only one reason he would seek them, after all- but it is the more level-headed and agreeable Narcissa who seems to takes the lead. "Regulus?" She asks her cousin, unable to hide the rising tone of surprise in her voice.

Regulus smiles mechanically. "This is not a social call." He tells them politely. "Is he here?"

"The Dark Lord?" Bellatrix's eyes alight eagerly. "I can summon him." She raises her left arm but Narcissa stops her with a stern look.

"What can you offer him?" She directs the question to Regulus, but she is still looking at her sister as if in warning. Regulus wants to laugh. They are so much like he and his brother, he thinks; the older, impulsive, reckless one, and the cautious and careful younger sibling. The Blacks are intense and fiery and it's a trait Bellatrix and Sirius share, and someone must keep watch over them: it seems he and Narcissa have unwittingly accepted that mantle. Is that not why he is here? To provide some sort of restraint against his thoughtless older brother?

Regulus takes a deep breath. "I can offer him the Order of the Phoenix." He replies blankly.

Bellatrix's eyes glitter excitedly and before Narcissa can stop her she has rolled back her dress-sleeves and pressed a thumb against the wriggling dark mark on her forearm.

There's a pattering and out from another door off the entrance hall steps Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange.

"Bella!" Rodolphus rushes forwards, anger set into every line of his knotted face. "Did you call him? He shall be furious!"

She points a finger at Regulus, her arm twisted out like vines. "He wants him!" She answers excitedly.

Rodolphus turns to inspect the visitor and Lucius Malfoy follows suit, standing so upright and straight that he seems to look down his nose at Regulus- which is no easy feat, since Regulus is tall, beanstalk tall, waiflike and wavy. He is like his father in that respect, but not as thick-set- and as much as he hates to admit it, like his brother.

"The Dark Lord will not have any use for a _schoolboy_." Lucius says, stretching out the word as if to get the most out of the insult. His sadistic smile twists across his face as he stares scathingly at Regulus.

Behind them there's a rustling like the wind across leaves. "Perhaps," A cool voice slinks into the room, "I can decide that for myself."

Regulus can sense his presence before he sees him: an icy chill sets in and silence descends. Regulus turns and takes in the appearance of the notorious Dark Lord and he's underwhelmed: were it not for his long, dark robes he would not set an impressive figure. His face is strangely warped like it's been burned and moulded like it's made of wax. It is as pale as snow and his eyes are red and bloodshot. He is not as tall as many would perceive, nor quite as striking. He holds himself strangely, almost lop-sided. He is in the company of some of the finest purebloods from the noblest of families that the wizarding world can offer. His poor upbringing seems all the more obvious when set against the backdrop of the towering and imposing Lucius and Regulus. They are aristocratic and well-bred- he, somehow, is not.

Lord Voldemort's eyes appraise Regulus. "We are not acquainted," his silky voice says.

Regulus nods stiffly and introduces himself, and with the announcement of his surname, he sees Voldemort's eyes flash red.

"Another Black." His smile is almost greedy. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asks.

"I have news regarding the Order of the Phoenix." Regulus replies, sounding far calmer than he feels. "The Order think that the abandoned tube station- King William Street- is a Death Eater hideout and they plan to siege it."

Whether King William Street really is a Death Eater hideout, Regulus does not know- he only knows that he has heard the older Slytherins in the common room talking of it, and as for the Order's plans to siege it, he cannot be sure either but he's planted the idea in Sirius's head and he hopes it is enough. Voldemort's face is a mask and he shows no sign of being surprised by the news. "When?" He asks coolly.

"In two weeks."

"Where did you find this out?" He stares at Regulus intensely and Regulus has to look away. There is something in Voldemort's bloodshot eyes that unnerves him and in that moment, Regulus is sure he is not entirely human. And besides, Regulus knows that The Dark Lord can perform Occlumency, and one slip up could result in blowing his whole plan. "My brother." He replies, keeping his gaze on the floor. It is not a lie entirely, he reassures himself.

Bellatrix shrieks suddenly from the other side of the room and Regulus jumps, having forgotten anyone else was there. "Sirius?" She spits. "He's a traitor! Filthy!"

"He's not." He breathes, desperate not to give himself away. "If he were a traitor to our side, how else would I know this information?" He matches Bellatrix's gaze.

She laughs harshly, almost manically. "You and Sirius do not speak!"

"That is our cover." Regulus's voice is unnaturally level. "How else would we lead people to believe Sirius has severed ties with his family? How else would he find himself privy to information regarding the Order of the Phoenix?"

"He is a double agent," Lord Voldemort surmises. "Then we must exercise caution should we meet in a fight, I shall inform the rest of my followers. But why has he not shown himself to me?"

"We work together. That is why I am here."

"You will not look at me. You are hiding something from me?" The Dark Lord's voice is a soft hiss and it seems even more threatening. "How can I be sure that you aren't a spy for them?"

Regulus's throat feels dry, his voice catches. "Because I will become a Death Eater." He replies, finally looking up at his new master. The Dark Lord's face twists into a satisfied smile, and Regulus has the impression that he had been waiting for Regulus to say it, as if he fully expected he would say it, as if nothing in the world was more certain.

The others in the room seem paralysed, unable to move, but not Bellatrix; she scurries forward, scattered like a spider, dancing about on the spot and her eyes alight with eager excitement. "Little Reg! A Death Eater! Aunty and Uncle will be so proud!"

He tenses and his voice cracks: it almost gives him away. "Don't call me Reg."


	6. Chapter V- Brothers in Arms: Part Two

A.N: _I 100% apologise in advance and promise the next chapter will be better/happier!_

Chapter V- Brothers in Arms: Part Two

* * *

 _June, 1978._

Sirius is panting hard and dabbing at his split lip but he's tagged along at the back of the crowd hurrying to the dungeons and he presses himself against the wall, desperate not to be recognised. "Celeste," he whispers to the blonde-haired twin sister of Evan Rosier as she walks past, thrusting out a hand and grabbing her by the elbow.

She turns and stares at him with ice-blue eyes. "Well done Sirius." She hisses. "Funny, isn't it? If it was anyone else, the Head Boy would have marched them to the Headmaster but- oh yes, the Head Boy is _conveniently_ your best friend." She shakes his hand away and turns her back. "Beating up your little brother, good job." Several burly Slytherin boys stride past and Sirius flinches, pulling back into the shadows, but they walk by, oblivious to him.

"Will you get him for me?" He pleads, and her anger with him seems to melt as she simply nods her head sharply and disappears off behind a stone wall a little further down the corridor.

Regulus emerges moments later tentatively probing at his bruised eye, and when he sees Sirius lurking in the dark he immediately turns back.

"So is it true?" Sirius asks before Regulus can disappear. Regulus shrugs like he doesn't know what Sirius is talking about. "Why are you wearing your jumper? It's the beginning of June." Sirius says.

Regulus shrugs again and goes to cross his arms, but Sirius is too quick and grabs his left arm. He doesn't need to check; as his hand closes around his forearm, Regulus's answering flinch is enough. He lets go of him like he's made of fire and Sirius has been burned.

"You disgust me." He spits. Sirius stares at him with the utmost contempt, into the black eyes of Voldemort's newest Death Eater, and wonders just how his little brother Reg has got so far involved in Voldemort's circle. This was the same brother who had, aged five, presented Sirius with a stuffed elf-head and asked desperately, with tears swimming in his eyes, for help from his big brother to put it back on the wall before their parents found out.

Of course, their parents did find out, and Sirius had taken the blame. In fact, Sirius has always taken the blame- the elf-head, the burning drapes, the ruined books, the letters from Hogwarts ( _'They've got the wrong name, obviously!')-_ because their parents already hate him, why let Regulus suffer?

But now Regulus has joined Voldemort and he's going to kill innocent muggles and muggleborns and the thought makes Sirius sick. This is his _brother_.

"A Death Eater, Reg?" Sirius shakes his head and looks at Regulus's covered arm once again. "Why?" He asks.

Regulus doesn't reply but there's a defiance in his devil's eyes that makes Sirius think he can guess the reason. Like Regulus's affiliation to Slytherin, his desire to join the Quidditch team, to memorise his family tree, to live up to his parents' expectations, to embrace the Dark Arts. Everything Sirius hates, Regulus embraces, and it is for this reason that Sirius thinks Regulus has joined the Death Eaters; because Sirius never did, and he needs to prove that he is _nothing like_ Sirius.

Sirius wants to curse some sense into him, his idiot little brother, because Regulus has not realised quite how serious it is, quite how far he has got himself. It is not just some competition to please their parents, to be the better son, it is life and death. Sirius wants to scream at him, he can feel his fury building and burning. There's a rage bubbling but he needs to stop it- James has told him it terrifies him, Remus says he needs to learn to manage it or it'll land him in Azkaban- so he takes a deep breath and tries to hold it back. What's the point in getting angry at Regulus, he asks himself. It's too late. He tries to think of something else, so he nods at the blossoming bruise around his eye- the one that Sirius gave him earlier, when they fought in the courtyard- and tells him, "you need Bruise-Away. That'll clear it up."

Regulus's answering laughter is hollow. "I need a brother who doesn't beat me up."

Sirius bites the fierce retort back. "You should thank James," he says instead. "If he hadn't punched me back I don't know what I'd have done, but you wouldn't be stood here nursing just a black eye, you'd be lying in that courtyard and they'd be searching for a pulse." Sirius tells him. "But you shouldn't rely on James, you should have fought back yourself."

"Why?"

"Because you're a Death Eater now!" He shouts. He can feel his anger crackling like thunder, a white-hot temper surging through him ready to erupt like a volcano. He just cannot believe how much of an idiot Regulus is. He has no clue as to what he has got himself into and his ignorance is making Sirius furious. "A punch from your brother is nothing compared to what you'll face now you're a Death Eater, and it's not just from the good guys you'll be fighting. You put one toe out of line, Reg, and the Death Eaters will kill you without a second thought!" His temper gets the better of him: his face clouds over and his pent up fury seems to rain down now like a torrential storm.

"I'm protecting you! The Dark Lord thinks you're on his side! He said he won't harm you!" Regulus shouts back.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Sirius dismisses sharply with a shake of his head.

Regulus takes a deep breath, gathering his confidence, and squares his shoulders determinedly to his brother so he can look him in the eye. Sirius is barely two inches taller than Regulus. "The Dark Lord thinks that the Wizarding World should be cleansed, that only Purebloods are worth anything." He frowns. "Do you know who's first on the Dark Lord's list? Purebloods who _don't_ think that."

They're alone in the corridor, thankfully, and Sirius grabs Regulus, slamming him back against the corridor wall. "So you've risked _everything_ to make sure that you're little Death Eater friends don't harm me?" He growls.

Regulus struggles against his brother's hold and kicks out. "I know what I'm doing." Regulus manages to reply through strangled breaths.

"You think that now you're a Death Eater he'll just leave me alone? He doesn't think like that, Reg. You don't reason with him!"

"No. I lie to him. I tell him that you agree with what he says, that you're just infiltrating the enemy from the inside. That you're a Black, after all, and you agree with your family." His eyes flick up to Sirius's face but he looks away. "And I tell him it's all an act, that your family is the most important thing to you."

Sirius is seething, and his hands grip Regulus's jacket lapels so tightly that his knuckles turn white. "Reg, he's a legilimens, he can tell when people are lying to him!"

There's something that sounds like hope in Regulus's voice when he replies. "Yeah, but if I believe it's true, how will he know it's a lie?"

Sirius loosens his grip and Regulus slumps against the wall. "Is it worth it? Joining the Death Eaters?" He asks imploringly, desperate for Regulus to see sense. "They're not people, they're monsters, they kill muggles for fun! They blame it all on the muggles when they're the ones who've done the most damage! Do you even realise what you've done?"

"I'm protecting you," Regulus replies again.

"You aren't supposed to protect me." Sirius says, defeated. " _I'm_ supposed to protect _you_."

"Great job you've done so far," scoffs Regulus, shaking his jacket and smoothing out his creased collar.

Sirius falls back onto the wall he'd slammed Regulus against just moments before. He casts his gaze upwards and sees only ceiling and brickwork, but above them there is hundreds of other students going about their evening in the library or in the common rooms, talking eagerly of homework and dates to Hogsmeade and the upcoming summer holidays. Probably many of them are discussing the excitement of the evening in the courtyard when infamous Sirius Black had punched the Slytherin sixth year. Now down in the dungeons, in the bowels of the castle, he and his brother throw insults and punches and try to shout louder than the other and argue about who's the more ruined one. "Why are you so bothered by it, Reg? Why are you helping me?" Sirius asks.

"Because I'm the one that will have to bury you." Regulus tells him, as if he has to explain something obvious.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Regulus folds his arms and leans beside Sirius, and for a brief moment, it's as if they are children again and leaning against the iron railings that surround the park opposite their house. "Who else is going to? Mum? Dad? James?" He asks his brother. "Mum and Dad have no clue what you're doing and I'll be honest, I'm not sure they really care. And James? You don't think James will by lying beside you because the two of you have defied everything sensible and you've stupidly run into something you can't handle?"

"You think I'm stupid?"

"I think you're reckless!"

" _I'm_ reckless?" Sirius scoffs, his voice rising. "I'm not the one that's lying to You-Know-Who! What will happen, Reg, when you run out of information to pass to him? When I _never_ show up to any meetings? When I curse and _kill_ his other followers? When you run out of ways to bend the truth?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, furrowing his brow, but not before Sirius catches the worry hidden deep within his brother's dark, devil's eyes. Regulus, stupid, stupid Regulus, hasn't thought that far ahead- he's an idiot for even thinking such a dangerous plan could work. A trace of pity clouds Sirius's cut-glass features- or perhaps its sorrow, regret, repentance. Suddenly his little brother seems as clueless and naive as he did when he was seven years old and asking why Sirius wouldn't eat dinner with them, and eight years old and wondering what was wrong with Slytherins, and ten years old and writing ignored letters to Sirius pleading for him to reconsider his decision to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. Sirius feels like he's let Regulus down, and now Regulus is trying to save Sirius when Sirius should have saved him.

Perhaps this is his chance to make it up to Regulus, to do what he should always have done, what a big brother is supposed to do. "One thing you said is true, anyway." Sirius slowly tells Regulus. "Family is more important than anything else."

"It's true?"

Sirius cannot look Regulus in the eye. "Yeah," he says, "so you tell him that."

The lies they tell to protect each other.

Feeling uncomfortable, Sirius shoves his hands clumsily into his pockets and pushes himself up from the wall. "So have fun with your new boss." He tells Regulus, with a wry smile.

"You know, there's something really off about him." Regulus admits.

"Well, yes." Shrugs Sirius. "He's a creepy, evil, twisted-"

"No," Regulus cuts him off. "I mean, I think he's hiding something about himself. About what he does. No one knows where he goes, no one knows what he's doing. He talks as if he's going to live forever. Sometimes it's like he isn't human, not really." He says, perhaps for the benefit of himself rather than for Sirius. "There's something strange about him and I'm going to find out what it is."

"Solve the mystery?" Sirius smiles fondly at his little brother, turning and starting to head off down the corridor. "I've said it before, Reg." He calls over his shoulder. "You read too many detective stories."

# # #

 _March, 1979._

"Let go of him!"

Fabian Prewitt seems oblivious to James's protests. He's strong and he knocks him back with little force, shaking him off as if he's nothing more than a housefly. Fabian pushes Sirius heavily and Sirius stumbles backwards. Fabian takes a step forward and he and Sirius are so close that the toes of their shoes almost meet.

"I might not be James-Potter-and-Sirius-Black smart." Fabian breathes. "I know people think me and Gideon are just the jokers. But I'm not stupid. I know you sent that curse."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Sirius replies indifferently, trying to coolly roll the insult off his shoulders.

"Don't talk to me like you think you're cleverer than I am." Snarls Fabian, poking his wand roughly into Sirius's chest. "I know what I saw. My brother was about to take out a Death Eater and then a curse comes flying at him from your direction and knocks him off his balance. And now a Death Eater runs free and Gideon's nursing a charred hand."

Sirius stares him down, unblinking.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Black. But you better be careful because if I find out you're on the other side-"

"You'll what?" Sirius straightens up and throws his shoulders back, and he cuts just as an imposing figure as the burly Fabian. "You and Gideon going to poison me with some stupid cough sweet you've invented?" He taunts, raising one eyebrow.

Before he knows it Fabian has shoved his wand into Sirius's eyeline. "Watch yourself. Gideon's my brother. I'd do anything to protect him." Fabian drops his wand and offers Sirius a scathing, pitying laugh. "You don't know what that's like." He stalks off and skulks out of the room, leaving Sirius smoothing out his jacket and brooding alone.

"Did you?"

Sirius had forgotten James was still there. He shrugs his shoulders. "What?" He asks distractedly.

"Curse Gideon?"

Sirius laughs to himself. "Fabian's wrong."

"It wasn't you?" Asks James.

"No, I cursed Gideon." Sirius shakes his head, and pauses, rubbing a hand along his arm uncomfortably.

James's persistent curiosity drives the questions Sirius wishes he wouldn't ask. "Why'd you curse Gideon, he's on our side! Did they laugh at you or something? Just ignore them, mate, you usually do. I mean, if you want revenge, fair enough, but _cursing_ Gideon? Isn't that a bit-"

"It was Regulus under the hood," Sirius cuts across. "Gideon was going to kill him, I'm sure of it! I'm supposed to sit back and let someone curse my brother?"

James sighs heavily. "I don't get this thing between you and Regulus."

"He's an idiot,"

"I know, I know," James backtracks, keen to avoid setting Sirius off into one of his fiery rages. "He's an idiot, but he's _your_ idiot. But it just feels like, Regulus is stopping his side from killing you and you're stopping our side from killing him and I don't know," James flaps his arms emphatically, "it's like the two of you are fighting your own war, and if that's the case, mate, go and find Regulus and sort it out! Whatever happened between the two of you, just fix it. Because," James falters, "he's family."

"He's a Death Eater." Sirius says, scuffing his shoes along the floor.

James runs a hand helplessly through his hair. "I know."

"They're going to kill him, sooner or later."

"You don't know that." James tells him, but he's lying, and Sirius knows it too. There is only one way to leave the Death Eaters.

# # #

 _June, 1979_

Lupin and Sirius are sitting together at the table in Headquarters, on a day like every other. The door clicks but they're laughing so hard they barely hear it. It is nice to laugh; it has been so rare recently that it feels alien and strange, but nice all the same.

James enters quietly. "Sirius." He says, his face ice white.

"Prongs!" Cries Sirius, throwing up his arms jubilantly. "Lupin's got a brilliant joke, wait til-". He cuts off when he sees the pallid colour of James and the crestfallen expression on his face. "James?" He asks.

"I've just seen Peter, he's told me what happened. Merlin, Sirius, it's awful, I know." James steps beside Sirius and drags him out of his chair by his elbow, then throws his arms around him and slams his hand heavily into his back. Sirius isn't expecting it, and he feels his knees about to buckle.

"Mate, what are you on about?" Sirius wrangles his way free and shakes his head in confusion, wrinkling his brow.

"Oh Merlin. You don't know?" James breathes.

The smile, the laughter at Lupin's joke, has not yet left Sirius's face.

James takes a deep breath. "It's Regulus." The words catch in his throat. "Sirius, I'm so sorry."


	7. Chapter VI- Careers Advice

Chapter VI: Careers Advice

 _Careers appointments with her fifth years have never been so difficult._

* * *

 _April, 1976._

Fifth year brings Career Advice sessions and Professor McGonagall is dreading the day she must meet with each of her four Gryffindor boys. They are certainly not an easy year- they consist of a cocky Quidditch star, a disgraced pureblood, a joker, and a werewolf. How she will help them find suitable, sensible career paths, she doesn't know.

She has full control of the meetings timetable and whilst alphabetical order seems the most sensible option, she knows that she just does not have the energy to face Sirius Black first, and Remus Lupin's meeting will leave her so thoroughly downhearted she won't be able to get through the rest, so it is James Potter who arrives at half past nine on Tuesday morning, exuding energy and wearing an eager grin.

James, at least, has some good ideas, and he has his heart set on becoming an Auror. His grades are excellent, of course, "although", she tells him, "getting into the Auror programme is difficult and they only accept the best so you need to put in as much effort as you can. I know you can achieve it, Potter, but do not rest on your laurels."

She carries on the meeting with a run-down of the types of tests James will be required to undertake during the three year Auror training programme. She tells him about the Auror mentors he could be assigned, she tells him that none of them will take any nonsense, she tells him that discipline on the course is strict- he might be clever, but this will not afford him impunity. In short, she tells him that whilst his knowledge and talent will not hold him back, his blatant disregard of rules will.

James nods enthusiastically but she's not sure he's really listening. She wonders if she should be worried because James is a likeable and able student, but if he's assigned one of the stricter Auror mentors he will certainly need to learn to get in line. After the meeting, he jumps up from the chair and bounds out of her office and she's confident that he hasn't taken in a word she has said to him, but James Potter will be fine; he may not be able to sit still for longer than fifteen minutes or make it through a single lesson without getting himself into trouble, but his unending curiosity, his contagious enthusiasm, and his sheer cheek, is what will see him succeed; he'll be able to win over the fiercest and most battle-hardened Aurors- and even the likes of Alastor Moody.

# # #

Peter Pettigrew occupies the meeting after morning break.

"Are you well?" McGonagall asks politely as he takes up the seat across her desk.

Peter smiles drolly. "I am since I'm missing Potions for this!"

Her nostrils flare and she thinks that Peter will not take this meeting seriously. She decides to cut straight to the point. "What are your plans for the future?" She asks abruptly.

Peter looks a little taken aback and splutters a reply; as expected, he isn't sure, but she admits to herself that she had expected this, so she lays out the parchment outlining his results on the desk between them.

"You excel in Muggle Studies," she points out, identifying the consistently high marks Peter has achieved in this subject throughout the years. "Do you enjoy it?"

"It's alright, I guess." He shrugs in reply.

"Have you thought about Muggle Relations?" She picks up a leaflet detailing this career path from a pile beside her on the desk and hands it to him.

"Well," Peter hesitates, glancing down at the flyer.

She doesn't wait for him to reply further. "There are roles on the Muggle Privy Council- they advise on matters concerning wizard interaction with muggles," she explains, "or Squib Liaison, helping squibs adjust to a life in the Muggle world which, given your experience with your sister," she does not notice Peter flinching at this subject, "I feel that you would certainly do well in this. Of course, working anywhere in Muggle Relations only requires a pass in Muggle Studies but it won't hurt to get an Outstanding in your O.W.L., so you'll need to buckle down, but I know that you can achieve it."

"Actually," Peter tries again.

"Then with an O in your O.W.L you can continue on to N.E.W.T level. It's rarely oversubscribed so there will be plenty of support and I know you'll flourish in those classes." She nods smartly. "You can take the leaflet with you, I have plenty more."

With that, she dismisses him from the room.

She expects little of Peter Pettigrew, a lump of a boy, who she has always considered a little dull and plain, but perhaps, she considers, this is because he's always accompanied by James, Sirius, or Lupin- three of the biggest and most self-assured personalities in the school. Alone, without the others' overpowering presence, Peter will shine. Whilst he does not possess the quickest wits or the sharpest mind, he's got an amicability that will take him places. He seems to be able to make a friend out of anybody, so it will not be his talent that affords him promotions and builds his career, he will get ahead thanks to his easy and pleasant nature, and his talent for networking. Really, McGonagall thinks, it is hard for anyone to dislike Peter.

# # #

Sirius struts into her office, knocking only out of formality on the door he has swung open. She braces herself; this, she knows, is not likely going to be easy.

"Have you had a chance to look at any of the pamphlets that have been left in the common room?" She asks, convinced she knows the answer.

"I've browsed through a couple," Sirius replies, waving his hand with an aristocratic air that he'll never be able to get rid of.

She presses her lips together into a thin line. "Well?" She says.

Sirius smirks. "I was spoilt for choice!"

She pulls a pile of the same leaflets that have been left in the common room towards her and takes up the first one advertising a career with the Auror division of the Ministry of Magic. Knowing James also expressed a desire to become an Auror, she thinks this might be a likely choice although she pities the poor Auror that will have to train both James _and_ Sirius. At least- she smiles grimly to herself- they will no longer be her problem. "With results like yours," She tells Sirius, running her eyes down a sheet of parchment listing his outstanding previous grades, "you could easily get into the Auror programme, but that will involve further tests and examinations and a further three years of study," she holds the leaflet out for him to read but he ignores it.

"Nah," He shakes his head haughtily, sliding back into his chair and seemingly making himself comfortable. "Not an Auror. Don't fancy a family reunion every time I arrest a bad guy."

She agrees that an Auror may not be a good idea given Sirius's circumstances. "Well you have excellent grades, it would be a shame to see them wasted. A job elsewhere in the Ministry perhaps? There are so many departments I'm sure we could find one that would suit you. Magical transportation?" She asks, knowing his fondness for magical vehicles.

His lips twist into a cynical smile. "Might go for the Minister position, actually, I reckon I could scrape together enough gold for the initial bribe."

"Black," McGonagall warns, although she knows that it is for the best if Sirius stays well away from the Ministry. He stretches the lines of the school rules, and she's a little apprehensive that he'll show the same disregard for wizarding law. She flicks the pamphlet away and takes up the next from the pile. "A curse breaker for Gringotts?" She asks, presenting the leaflet for him to read. It's a dangerous yet glamourous position- something she considers might be right up his street. He takes it from her and flips it open carelessly, his eyes quickly skimming the page.

"It's in Egypt!" He turns it and presents her with a picture of several pointed brick pyramids amid sandy deserts. "That climate will wreak havoc on my complexion."

She snatches the leaflet back. "This is serious!" She tells him, as he leans forward towards her desk and helps himself to a biscuit from the open box.

The next leaflet is an unlikely route but she feels she must offer it anyway. Annoying his mother is the job he'd pick if it were such an option, and this could be the closest he could get. "Muggle relations?"

He shakes his head, evidently valuing his life more than his desire to infuriate his mother. "Only if you promise to come to my funeral."

She sighs wearily and picks the small stack of remaining leaflets up, shuffling them together like a pack of cards. She flicks the top one off the pile and reads the title. "Teaching?"

"Who'd hire me to teach other students?" He scoffs.

Undeterred, she reads the next title. "Training security trolls?"

"Couldn't stand the smell."

"Dragon tamer?"

"You can't tame a beast, Minerva."

She resists the urge to throw the leaflets at him. "Well how about healthcare?" She tries next, noting the crossed wand and bone on the front of the next thick, mint green pamphlet.

"How safe would you feel if you arrived at St Mungo's and I was your healer?"

She hums her agreement and moves on to the next leaflet. "Antidote tester?"

"Some of them might not work."

"Magizoologist?"

"Couldn't even spell it."

She abandons the rapidly diminishing stack of leaflets offering careers advice. "Barman in the Three Broomsticks?" She asks sharply.

Sirius is still smirking, evidently enjoying her frustration. "I'd drink the profits."

"Professional layabout?"

He sits up and his eyes flash eagerly. "That's a real job?"

Her lips are narrowed into such a thin line that they are in danger of disappearing. "No, but it's what you will be doing if you don't put some thought into your future!" She replies.

He bats his hand at her. "I'll find something."

It worries her; Sirius Black is an incredibly bright wizard, and she does not want to see his talents go to waste. She can't help but think he's taking a rather selfish approach- he's blasé and disinterested, and he should be grateful for the opportunities he can afford, especially when his own friends will not be blessed with such chances. "What are you going to do?" She asks, with a slightly defeated sigh.

He blows a puff of air out and his fringe flips up. "I don't know," he admits, "but it won't be boring."

There's a sparkle in his eyes that she rarely sees, it's like a single ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds, and she thinks that perhaps she shouldn't be so worried- he's Sirius Black, and he will follow his own unexpected path. He's tenacious and daring with strong morals and an even stronger heart- and he's fifteen years old. He's got his whole life still ahead of him, and he'll find his way soon enough.

# # #

Lupin shuffles in and apologises profusely for his tardiness.

"No matter, Lupin," She replies curtly, motioning towards the chair opposite her desk. "I am well informed of your atrocious time-keeping and did not expect you to arrive until fifteen minutes after the arranged time. Our meeting was scheduled for three o'clock," she checks her watch; it is ten past three. "So by your own standards, you're five minutes early."

Lupin at least has the decency to look ashamed.

"Now, whilst _I_ expect it, it will not impress potential employers so I suggest you transfigure one of your friends into a pocket watch and work on improving your time-keeping."

"I don't really think my poor time-keeping is my worst vice." He answers wryly.

She ignores his interruption. "If it does not improve, I will have to mention it on your reference, I'm afraid."

He rubs the back of his neck anxiously and offers her a half-hearted smile. "I appreciate it, Professor," he implores, "but what options do I have, really?"

"Nonsense." She announces, a little more fiercely than she had planned. She tries to soften her expression. "Have a biscuit, Lupin," she offers, waving her hand over the tin on her desk. "There's some chocolate coated ones. I've heard you've a particular fondness for chocolate."

His smile is genuine. "Actually, that's James. Always offers me his chocolate, says it'll make me feel better." He tells her absentmindedly as he leans forward and takes a biscuit.

"Well there you are then," she replies. "Have a chocolate biscuit. It'll make you feel better."

Taking a deep breath, she readies herself. She had been mentally preparing for this meeting all day. "I don't see why you couldn't excel in teaching." She begins, hearing Lupin choke on his biscuit in surprise. "If it wasn't for you, Pettigrew might well have failed several of his classes. And I have heard about the success of the study groups you've helped Miss Evans with in the Gryffindor Common Room. The younger students rave about them. I think teaching is a very plausible pathway for you, I know I speak for Dumbledore as well as myself when I say that we would be very glad to welcome you back to Hogwarts in the future."

Lupin is gaping at her in silent astonishment.

"Of course," she continues. "You cannot expect to start as soon as you finish school. You'll need to build up some life experience, get out and about, see the world. Learn your subject, Lupin, and not just theory from books. Get some practical experience. Gaining a professorship from the Department of Magical Education will certainly help as well. It's a research project and I'm sure Dumbledore would be more than happy to extend the use of the Hogwarts Library to you for as long as you need it. Well?" She prompts, when it looks like Lupin has forgotten how to talk.

He stares back, slack-jawed, and nods his reply. She runs through his exam results with him, tells him what subjects he should concentrate on, offers him a handful of relevant leaflets for him to take and peruse, and dismisses him from her office.

She worries about Lupin for all the reasons one should be worried for him; he is a werewolf and the Wizarding World is not kind to those like him. Certainly she knows he is a capable and clever student, she can look past his illness- Dumbledore, the rest of the teachers, and his friends have learnt to look past it too- but the rest of the world is a different matter entirely. It will not be easy for him, but Lupin is no stranger to adversity, and he has already proved his worth. He'll succeed at anything he puts his mind to; whether it is coming to school, making friends, living with his affliction, there is no reason he cannot add finding employment and a stable home to his list. And who knows, he might even be able to change the world.

# # #

James Potter is accepted onto the Auror training programme but is forced into hiding immediately after the birth of Harry, and as such completes just two years of the required three year Auror training course. Peter Pettigrew, achieving an O in his Muggle Studies O.W.L and continuing it to N.E.W.T. level, never works in Muggle Relations, but is present during the murder of the Muggle Studies teacher some twenty years later. Sirius Black buys a motorcycle, charms it to fly, and rides out of the gates of Hogwarts with Death riding pillion, and as promised, there is certainly never a dull moment for Sirius until he is incarcerated in Azkaban and whiles away his time in a bland, six by eight cell. Remus Lupin's time-keeping never improves, and neither do his job prospects; he flits between menial jobs in both the muggle and magical world, far below his level of competence and his talents go to waste, until he is placed- against McGonagall's best wishes- into the Defence Against the Dark Arts position in Hogwarts where he flourishes- and inevitably leaves after just one year.

She'd worried about her four Gryffindor boys for all the right reasons; the four are dead before they even reach forty, and none of them ever had the chance to find a future, let alone a career.


	8. Chapter VII- Uncle Marius

_A:N Sorry again for the hiatus, but it seems these ideas arrive sporadically and take weeks to come together. I wanted to write something a bit more light-hearted than the last one but it turns out that writing lengthy, desperate, depressing one-shots about secondary characters are my thing (but I'm feeling sad atm so here is an example of art reflecting life!). I realise this no longer fits with James's Pottermore backstory but I mentioned James's squib uncle in chapter 1 and I was hooked on the idea. So enter stage left, Marius Black._

Chapter VII: Uncle Marius

 _Uncle Marius- the family disappointment_

* * *

 _August, 1974._

Uncle Marius turns up at the Potters' house in the summer of 1974 carrying a battered cardboard box filled with varying shades of stone-washed denim.

He's a squib and as he was informed aged eleven when his Hogwarts letter never arrived, he's the Black family's biggest disappointment. It was 1929 and eleven year olds could not be cast out onto the streets, so instead his mother and father sent Marius down to the basement where two house-elves worked diligently, and it was here he spent his days helping to prepare food, cook, and wash up, and in the evenings he would hurry upstairs and help clean the house, until he turned sixteen and ran away in the early hours of a misty March morning.

He was in the heart of London, but he could not exactly take refuge in The Leaky Cauldron or enter St Mungo's or the Ministry, so ended up taking shelter in a churchyard near London Bridge. He was woken by the sounds of street traders nearby, and with nothing to lose and nowhere really to go, he followed the source of the noise and found Borough Market. A gentleman selling meat called him over and asked for help, and whilst he thought there was something odd about Marius, he was impressed with his butchery skills- skills he had learnt in the kitchen from the house-elves- and asked Marius if he wanted a job. He employed Marius, who was not paid a single penny- not that he understood muggle money at the time- but instead the gentleman and his wife gave him a roof over his head, food, and shelter, and Marius was struck by the warmth of a family and the kindness of London strangers.

The gentleman's wife was kindly and did not ask when Marius appeared baffled by everyday objects, and she taught him everything his wizarding parents had not. He cast off the shackles of the wizarding world and embraced Muggles. He was fascinated by them; the switches on their walls that drown the rooms in bright light, the matches to light their candles, the way they tie knots with only their fingers and they write on thin white parchment cut in neat rectangles with strange self-inking quills.

They continued this way for several years, until Marius, feeling a swelling sense of honour to the muggle world that had taken him in, enlisted in the British Army in 1939. The Second World War was beginning and Marius was a strong twenty-one year old with only a surrogate family to speak of, and he was immediately dispatched to fight on the front line. He fought valiantly and had he been a little older, he could have risen through the ranks, but instead he found he liked the one-for-all attitude and the camaraderie amongst the younger soldiers, and there, amongst those of his own age, he found his real home. His squadron was his Hogwarts house; he finally felt the sense of belonging that so many of his family had spoken of finding within Hogwarts.

He came home during Christmas of 1941 to find London burning and despite the letters he had sent back, he had no idea where the Gentleman and his wife were, or if they were indeed still alive, so he returned in the New Year to the front line, and only returned back to London in 1945 when the war had been won.

Now he was a returning war hero; with his army pay in his pocket, medals pinned to his chest, a bubbling sense of excitement running through the whole of England and a handful of friends in the same situation, he easily found a room to rent and employment to keep him busy. The 1950s rolled in and he whiled away his evenings in pubs with his fellow soldiers, recalling their army stories, smoking roll-ups, and dancing to Buddy Holly with the barmaids. The 1960s brought British bands and wild hysteria and Marius made his money selling knock-off memorabilia that a friend had acquired for him.

Now he owns a market stall and a flat in New Cross and he rides the underground across central London. He managed to master decimalisation quicker than most muggles, he calls his money _a couple of quid_ and _a few bob,_ and he's got a market trader's patter off to a t. He smokes twenty-a-day and tells everyone who'll listen that he hates it, wants to kick the habit, but he never will, and eventually it'll kill him.

And every so often, he gets into his car and makes the 200-mile journey to visit his one remaining link to the wizarding world; his sister, Dorea, and her family.

"You still wearing those glasses then, Buddy Holly?" The words seem to roll out of the side of Uncle Marius's mouth. He smirks lopsidedly, and ruffles his nephew's hair. He motions towards the thick horn-rimmed frames adorning James's face that he had gifted to the boy last summer.

"I don't know who that is," James replies, slightly exasperated, because Uncle Marius seems content to tell him he looks like Buddy Holly but he's never cared to actually explain who on earth it is.

Uncle Marius clicks his tongue. "Well, as long as no-one laughs at you for them."

"They wouldn't dare, my friend would hex anyone who laughed at me." James grins.

"Sounds like you've got yourself a good friend, then." Uncle Marius turns around to the heavy box he's left on the table and plunges his hand in amongst the denim. James wrinkles his nose as the smell of tobacco that seems to emanate from his uncle hits him. "Now I got these off Digsy, gave me an excellent deal." James can hear his mother tutting but Uncle Marius ignores her. "Disgy's got the stall next to me down in Camden, nice fella, very up-to-date with fashion and things." He finally extracts what he was looking for and pulls a pair of trousers from the box. They are a dark denim, with straight legs, and Uncle Marius holds them out for James to take.

"They look worn," James plucks them gingerly from his Uncle's hand and furrows his brow suspiciously.

"That's the style!" Uncle Marius reassures him as only a market trader could. "Now, they might be a bit big, but your mum tells me you're good with your spells so you could just make them a bit smaller so they fit."

James nods, still a little unconvinced. "And this is what the muggles wear?"

"Yeah!" Replies Uncle Marius, nodding his head with far too much enthusiasm. "I've seen all the rock stars in them!" James wonders when, exactly, Uncle Marius has actually ever seen a rock star, let alone one wearing a pair of trousers like these. Uncle Marius carries on determinedly. "They dress them up with chains, studs, they look _cool_."

James's eyes light up. Rock stars, chains, studs, denim jeans- it _is_ starting to sound cool. And James knows one person who will be desperate to get his hands on a pair.

"Do you reckon you could get my friend some?" He asks.

Uncle Marius ruffles James's hair again. "Sure thing, kid."

"Sirius'll think these are ace." James grins to himself, thinking about what Sirius will say.

"Sirius?" Uncle Marius says, pulling half his mouth up into a curious smile and letting the word fall out the other end.

"That's my friend." James explains. Uncle Marius looks up behind James to where his mother stands at the kitchen counter and meets her eye.

"Pollux's grandson." She replies sharply. Something passes between them, a flicker of recognition.

"A Black?" Uncle Marius asks, sounding astounded. "This'll be the one that hexes everyone, then."

"He's not like them," James's mother tells him. "He's like you."

Uncle Marius huffs a laugh. "Squib?"

"No." She replies, shrugging. "Kind."

# # #

 _August, 1975._

The summer of 1975 sees James spending a fortnight staying with his uncle in the capital.

Each day, they wake early and cram as much stock as they can into suitcases then load them into the back of Uncle Marius's glitzy Ford Cortina- the car is starting to rust and rattle a little, but Uncle Marius polishes it until it shines and James is dazzled because he's never ridden in a car before and he finds it absolutely fascinating, and Uncle Marius has promised to teach him how to drive it one day.

Uncle Marius has a permanent, covered stall already set up in Camden and they park in an alley nearby, carrying the heavy suitcases to the stall. As they wind between the other stalls Uncle Marius nods greetings to almost every other trader, and introduces his nephew, James, to each of them as they pass. By the end of the two weeks, Uncle Marius has said it so many times that James is known only as 'Nephew James'.

They reach the stall, pull the sheet of tarpaulin up and start piling out their stock onto the wooden tables behind. Uncle Marius sells trinkets and curios; thimbles and lockets and rings, badges and coins, bottles and jars. James shakes a handful of Sickles onto the table and mixes them amongst Uncle Marius's brick-a-brac thinking it would be fun for a muggle to find them and wonder what foreign land such coins came from.

Early morning trade is slow so James is sent on the breakfast run. The other stall holders near Uncle Marius are fond of James so he's charged with acquiring bacon sandwiches and cups of tea for all of them; in return, they fill him with bits of wisdom and life advice and spin him tale after tale, and James listens with wide-eyed interest and admiration.

But they joke with him, too; they ask him to run to the fish stall and get them a leg of salmon, or ask the man on the hardware stall for a tin of striped paint, send him off in search of a long wait, and James falls for it every time and when they laugh at him and tell him they're only pulling his leg, he's reminded of Peter. He wants to tell them that back at school he dabbles with unicorn hair and dragon liver and see whether they laugh then.

James adores his visits to Uncle Marius because when he's there he is, for all intents and purposes, a muggle. He enjoys his two weeks on the market stall with his uncle, but he struggles with the money, though. There are so many pieces in all sorts of shapes that he just doesn't know which is which and when the muggles start handing over pieces of paper he's completely muddled.

Digsy, who runs the stall beside his Uncle, doesn't laugh at him. "Don't worry, nephew James. I still haven't got my head around this bloody decimalisation, either." He tells James one day. "Why'd they ever get rid of the shilling, I dunno!"

"Come off it, Digsy!" Uncle Marius calls back. "You can still remember when it was Queen Victoria on the money!"

James nods in agreement and laughs along with them but he thinks they might be speaking another language.

Digsy is the same age as Uncle Marius but he's so much cooler- which is impressive, since James has always considered his uncle as the epitome of cool. He wears a black bandana tied around his head and his greying hair sticks out the top like a birds-nest, and his face is covered in lines and wrinkles like a knotted tree trunk. His clothes hang loose and fading tattoos swirl across his forearms. A lit cigarette is permanently attached to his lip, and now the smell of smoke doesn't make James wrinkle his nose, it reminds him of London and Uncle Marius and he loves it. Digsy fought in World War Two and he tells James all sorts of stories from his army days.

"Are you afraid of anything?" James asks, wide-eyed, after listening to Digsy tell a tale that involved him taking on five German Schutzstaffel officers with nothing but two rusty nails and a hammer. Digsy puffs out his chest, when Uncle Marius sidles over and raises a suspicious eyebrow.

"Digsy's got the heart of a lion," Uncle Marius tells James, "and a lifetime ban from London Zoo."

Later, years later, when James is in a rundown house and surrounded by four Death Eaters, and he can't find his wand but there's a hammer and a pile of nails in the corner of the room, he's reminded of Digsy and by some miracle that he's not sure he'll ever be able to explain, James makes it out alive.

# # #

 _December 1979_

James returns almost every summer to visit Uncle Marius, and when Sirius buys a flat in London when he's seventeen, and after they finish school, James hardly ever leaves the city. He is so busy with the order and with his friends and with persuading Lily to marry him that it's only fleeting visits to see Uncle Marius, but he arrives at the market like a whirlwind with his hurricane friend in tow.

James pretends not to notice Uncle Marius's fading hair and the greying of his face, and Marius pretends not to notice the cuts and bruises on the two boys. He was young once, he reminds himself, when he catches sight of the shredded skin around Sirius's knuckles and the purpling bruise on his jaw.

James is a London boy at heart, but Lily likes Godric's Hollow, the little quaint town, of muggles and wizards, and full of magic. So much better than dreary old Cokeworth, and so much safer than grimy London, and _Oh, James,_ she'd said, she'd much rather live here.

So James acquiesces, because he'd live anywhere that Lily wanted to, he'd follow Lily anywhere.

And the next time James visits Uncle Marius, he brings along his new wife. It's evening and Uncle Marius is at home. Of course they can't floo there, so they apparate just around the corner and walk the rest of the way. It's December and it's freezing cold, and James wants to cast a warming charm around them but Lily tells him he mustn't, because this is muggle London, after all. So James pulls his coat tighter around him and steps it out.

He hasn't been to Uncle Marius's flat since he stayed there during the summer four years ago. They climb the rickety metal stairs and wind along the open air corridor. Uncle Marius is thrilled when they arrive on his tatty doorstep, and when he sees Lily, he's terribly embarrassed and apologises for the faded carpets and shabby curtains.

"Not much money in market trading, tell you the truth," he says, like it's an apology. He ushers them into his small flat, and stubs his cigarette out quickly in an ashtray perched precariously on a tower of cardboard boxes.

"New stock, mind that," he tells James, when he catches him eying the box suspiciously. He shuffles about, picking up a selection of mugs as he does so. "Sit down, sit down," he waves across at the sofa. "I'll make some tea. You do drink tea, don't you?"

"We're wizards, not savages." James replies. He hears Uncle Marius laughing to himself in the kitchen. There's a clatter of mugs and the running of water.

Hesitantly, James looks around the little sitting room, remembering the two weeks he spent here. There's brown tar stains on much of the furniture and the decorations. It smells of must and stale tobacco. The sofa and the curtains are threadbare and worn. The wallpaper is beginning to peel, and there's a crack up on the ceiling. The unkempt, effortlessly cool, rock'n'roll grandeur that had once seemed to drip from this little London flat seems as faded as the curtains, and there's an ache deep in James's heart.

"You know, Uncle Marius, Lily's been training me. I can do all sorts of little housework spells," James shouts into the kitchen warily. "I could get that stain out of the carpet, for sure." Lily bats him on the arm, and shakes her head, frowning. Uncle Marius doesn't seem to hear him.

He finds a neat box and flicks through the contents, plucks out a well-played Buddy Holly record, and holds it up to Lily.

Uncle Marius shuffles back into the room. "Buddy Holly," he says, in his familiar sideways way, much more like the Uncle Marius James remembers. He's carrying a tray laden with a teapot, tea cups and saucers, and a plate of rich tea biscuits, and he sets it upon the coffee table. He crouches beside it. "Under that box, Buddy," Uncle Marius smiles, pointing his head to behind where James is sitting, whilst he pours milk from a chipped jug into the three cups. "You do take milk, don't you, Lily, love?"

She nods, laughing politely at the endearment, and admiring his etiquette- as she had said to Sirius, the boy can leave the noble and most ancient House of Black, but the noble and most ancient House of Black will never leave the boy. Marius picks up the tea pot and start to pour it out. "That thing won't work here," he says, without looking up at James, who is waving his wand haphazardly at the record player in the hopes that something, anything, will start to play.

"Muggles," James sighs, shaking his head.

"They reckon we'll get rid of them, soon." Uncle Marius hands a cup across to Lily, then gets up and goes to help James. "Records, I mean. Compact discs will be all the rage, apparently. Digsy tells me I should get into the compact disc business."

James stares blankly back. The jumpy, staccato music on the record crackles into the room. Lily smiles; the music reminds her of the things her father used to play, and she had forgotten such simple things as this.

She makes a promise to herself that they will visit Marius more often.

# # #

 _January 1981_

There's a familiar, ashy smell swirling across from behind the cenotaph. James pushes his glasses further up his nose and looks around. There, sitting on the bench and staring up at the stone monument, reading the names of the war heroes of the Godric's Hollow Second Light Infantry, cigarette hanging loosely from the corner of his mouth, is Uncle Marius.

He spots James in an instant.

"Alright, James." He says, the side of his mouth not taken up by rolled tobacco breaking into a lopsided smile. He stands up and strides over to his nephew, flicking his cigarette to the cobbled ground and stamping on it.

James squints at him curiously and pushes his glasses further up his nose. "What are you doing here?"

"Come for a visit." Uncle Marius shrugs, sticking his hands into his coat pockets. "Only, I don't know where your house is."

"I thought I told you. We're in the little road, past the post office."

He smiles, looking abashed. "There's nothing there." He admits, shaking his head.

James feels like kicking himself. "Right," he remembers, "we've got a secret-keeper."

Uncle Marius drags a scuffed shoe across the cobbles. "Haven't seen you for a while. Figured you'd be busy with the baby. So I thought I'd come to visit you, for a change." He shrugs again, as if the 200 mile, 4-hour drive down from the capital was merely like nipping down to the corner shop. "How is the baby?" He asks.

"Harry? He's good." James's eyes light up excitedly. "Really good. Lively, I'll tell you."

"Is that what," Uncle Marius points at the sellotaped joint of James's glasses. "there?"

"Oh, yeah," James says, and Uncle Marius doesn't fail to notice the slight crease between James's eyes and the brief frown. "Even Buddy Holly isn't invincible." He agrees with a fake, too-cheerful smile, because it's easier than trying to explain that it was a curse he narrowly avoided thrown by a Death Eater he didn't know, and that he hadn't seen Lupin to get him to fix them yet. Indeed, even his Buddy Holly glasses- the great, thick black, square glasses that became his trademark at Hogwarts, so much sturdier than his old wire framed stick-insect pair- are no longer invincible.

A moment of silence passes and Uncle Marius gathers that he isn't getting any more of an explanation for the broken glasses. He pulls out a packet of tobacco and some papers from his pocket and starts to roll another cigarette. "Sorry about your mum, Buddy." He says.

"Thanks," James nods weakly. The death of his mother just before Christmas is still a sore subject.

"I got your letter. Tried to reply and ask when the funeral was, but it's not always easy to find an owl in the centre of London."

"We didn't really have much. She's buried beside Dad in the cemetery. I'll take you and show you if you like."

"Nah," Uncle Marius shakes his head, and lights his cigarette. He breathes it in deeply. "Maybe later."

James pauses. "You can't come and see the baby smelling of smoke." He says, trying to lighten the mood.

Uncle Marius pauses. "What?" He asks, in his familiar sideways way.

"Lily won't like it."

He seems to turn it over in his mind before replying, as if he's chewing on his words, sampling them, before he decides what will come out. "Is it a long walk to your house?" He finally asks.

"Not too far."

"Then I'll smoke quickly." He smiles wickedly, taking a long drag. "I'm giving up, y'know," he tells James, nodding at the half-burnt cigarette between his forefingers, and James laughs, because he's heard that too many times to count.

Six month old baby Harry does not mind the smell of smoke, as it happens, or if he does, he doesn't let on. In fact, he seems rather taken by Uncle Marius. James decides it's hilarious to point out that actually, this makes Marius a Great Uncle, and does that make him feel old? And Uncle Marius laughs and tells James that he is bloody old- he's sixty-three!- but he doesn't feel a day over twenty-one, he says, followed by a hacking, smoker's cough.

James had never thought of his Uncle as old before.

Uncle Marius plays with Harry all afternoon, and he even stays for dinner that evening but declines their offer of a room for the night, telling them he's quite happy to drive home. James offers to apparate him, but he refuses, says he's never done side-along apparition before and he doesn't fancy starting now. It's gone nine o'clock when he leaves and James is worried because it's dark and it's a long way home.

"Let me know when you get back, won't you?" James tells him, as he steps out into the night.

"What, don't think old Great Uncle Marius can find his way home?" He teases, the words rolling out of the side of his mouth.

James looks out nervously, "it's just, dark, y'know. Strange things about."

"I'll be fine." Uncle Marius shrugs nonchalantly, unaware of just what might be waiting for him- might be waiting for anyone who leaves the Potter house- in the shadows.

"Well, let me know anyway." James asks again.

"How am I supposed to do that? You haven't got a telephone."

"A what?"

Uncle Marius smiles and bats his hand at him, taking out a packet of tobacco and some papers. "Ah, nevermind, Buddy. Look after yourself," he says, and bids them goodbye.

About four hours later, Uncle Marius finally arrives at his little London flat, and thankfully, it's too dark and he doesn't notice the deer hiding underneath the stairwell.

# # #

Later on, Uncle Marius receives letters from James. Marius remembers that James had said his wife was a muggleborn, which explains why they now arrive through Royal Mail and the stamps on the envelopes are always lined neatly and correctly in the corner. The letters are infrequent at first, but by the summer, they arrive almost every fortnight, lengthy letters detailing almost every aspect of James's life.

He has updates on Lily, and Harry, and even his friends Sirius and Peter. He receives news about a group James calls the Order, and almost every letter comes with the news of a death of someone Uncle Marius has never heard of but sounds terribly important to James. He's asked whether James should be worried that he hasn't seen one of his friends for over three weeks, and does he have any advice on wayward friends? A gentleman named Dumbledore has had James's cloak for over a month now and would it be rude to ask for it back? He's quizzed on what type of birthday party they should throw for Harry and would he be able to make it down- he has to decline the invitation because he'd promised Digsy he'd help him that day. He gets asked about home improvements and should James change the carpet in the living room, because he thinks it's too dark and a lighter coloured one would brighten up the room, and does he remember the curtains on the landing window and do they need changing, too? And how can he stop the cat from climbing on the kitchen worktops? And does he have any experience with garden gnomes because James thinks he has an infestation?

Then the long, rambling, sometimes incoherent letters mysteriously stop, and Marius assumes James has become too busy to write to his uncle. He remembers hearing along the grapevine, snatches of conversation as he walked past the door of the Leaky Cauldron one evening- he walks past often and thinks of how different his life could have been- that the war was over. The war James had spoken of in his letters, the one that had made him so miserable, the one that had made him question his friends, and cause him to ask his uncle whether the war he fought in had been like this.

They must be busy celebrating. Once everything has settled down, Marius is sure James will write again.

A couple of years' pass. There's still not been a speck of correspondence from James. Marius has sent letters though post and by owl. He's tried searching for James's friend, but London is so big, and Sirius could be anywhere, that the task is almost impossible. He wonders if they have all moved. He finally decides that he will once again head down to Godric's Hollow and visit their house, but the week before he plans to visit, he falls ill. He catches pneumonia, his chest weakened by his chain-smoking. In hospital, he requests a sheet of paper, writes one final, desperate letter to his nephew in Godric's Hollow and tells him he'd like to see him, and his wife, and baby Harry again, who's probably not so much a baby any more. He's too ill to make the journey to them but he explains- he's on his deathbed, and would they visit once more?- and he hopes that the news doesn't upset him too much.

He finishes it, _I'll wait for a reply, Buddy, or even better, a visit_.

They do not visit.


End file.
